


Couldn't Have One Without the Other

by clio_jlh



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Farm/Ranch, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Human, F/F, Family Feels, Flirting, Friendship, Horses, Humor, Little House on the Prairie - Freeform, M/M, Minor Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Pining, Romance, minor laura hale/Vernon Boyd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-02
Updated: 2013-09-30
Packaged: 2017-12-25 14:04:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 67,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/953980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clio_jlh/pseuds/clio_jlh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The little town of Beacon that weathered the Long Winter is growing with the arrival of new teacher Miss Laura Hale, who's come to prepare ambitious students Stiles and Lydia for their upcoming college exams.  Miss Hale's brother and sister, Derek and Erica, have also come to town to start a horse ranch.  But is it their beautiful horses, or the Hale siblings themselves, who have turned Stiles and Lydia's heads?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. (Stiles)

**Author's Note:**

> If the summary doesn't give it away to you, it's a Little House-style AU, suggested by katemonster and verity on tumblr one day. Thanks so much to verity and heidi for beta'ing this beast of a story, and to them, evil_erato and stina for cheerleading me during the writing process!  
> Artwork in chapter 20 by threelongsteps; [here's her art post for you to give much love to](http://threelongsteps.tumblr.com/post/43182541140/my-commission-for-the-wolf-pack-project-for-the). I commissioned the piece, knowing I was going to be writing this story, during the Wolf Pack Project. Thanks again, Ariel!

"Stiles! Stiles!" Scott shouted, running into the depot office. "You _have_ to see these horses!"

"Do I now?" Stiles asked, not looking up from his figures. Scott was often excited about horses, because Scott was a farmer all the way down to his bones. But Stiles had retained enough of his former city-boy ways to not be impressed by a particularly large or well-matched team of draft horses.

"I saw their heads peeking out of the boxcar window, and they're too beautiful to be working, that's for sure," Scott said, raising his eyebrows.

Stiles raised his in return, his interest piqued, and turned to Mr. Finstock, the station master, who waved them off. "You may as well get a good look at 'em," he said.

"Thanks, Mr. Finstock!" Stiles said, grabbing his hat and heading out to the just-arrived train. To be fair, Stiles had meant to casually look out the window as the passengers left the train, because he wanted to be the first to see their new teacher, who was arriving that very day with her brother. But he didn't want to seem too eager: it was strange for a boy in a Dakota farm town to want to go to college, and frankly there were enough things about Stiles that stood him apart from the other fellows.

Except Scott, of course, who was staying in school because Stiles was, and because his Ma said he might and that one more year of hired hands wasn't anything.

They turned the corner and saw a woman who had to be Teacher standing under the shelter, shading herself from the sun. She was tall, dark-haired and fashionably dressed—or at least, dressed as fancy as his classmate Lydia, which Stiles took to be fashionable because Lydia wouldn't be anything else. Several satchels and cases and a few trunks were piled onto a hand cart next to her, and she held a gentleman's jacket. When she saw Scott and Stiles, she turned to them with a warm smile.

"Hello," she said. "I'm Miss Hale. Will I be seeing you boys in my classroom this fall?"

"Yes, ma'am," Stiles replied. "I'm Stiles Stilinski and this is Scott McCall."

"Pleased to meet you," Miss Hale said, bowing her head slightly. "Are you the college-bound students I was told about?"

"Stiles is," Scott said, "but there isn't much call for a college degree on the farm. My Ma and I just reckon I should get in all the learning I can, while I can."

"That's very wise of you and your Ma," Miss Hale replied. "No reason at all you can't join my college preparatory classes."

"Thank you, Miss Hale," Scott said, and Stiles nodded.

"But I'm sure you're here to see them, and not me," she said, and nodded toward the train behind them.

Stiles turned, and coming out of one of the box cars was a young man in shirt sleeves, his vest and trousers matching the coat that Miss Hale was carrying. He was slowly and carefully leading a glossy brown Morgan down a ramp out of the box car and toward the stables. Horses were often nervous when they arrived at the depot, disoriented by their journey and the unfamiliar surroundings. But the man was talking to his horse, walking slow and steady, and the horse came along gentle as could be. Stiles had never seen anything like it—nor a horse as beautiful as that one, even back in Chicago.

The man trotted back from the stables to the car, likely to get another horse, and he waved.

"That's my brother Derek," Miss Hale said. "He raises horses. It's our family business."

"They're beautiful," Scott said, as they watched Mr. Hale lead a second, perfectly matched horse out of the car.

"We've only brought one team for now," she said. "In the fall our friend and our younger sister are arriving with the rest. No sense bringing them when we still need to build a house and stables."

Mr. Hale wore a hat with a wide brim, understandable on such a bright, hot day, so it wasn't until he was quite close to them that Stiles could make out his features. The family resemblance was noticeable—the siblings shared the same dark hair, bright hazel eyes, and bone structure. But while Miss Hale was all warm welcome, Mr. Hale's eyebrows were furrowed, his mouth pinched tight.

He was also infinitely more beautiful even than his fine horses. Stiles felt his stomach flip and his mouth go dry, and for once he couldn't think of a single thing to say.

Thankfully Miss Hale was laughing. "Derek, stop scowling! You're going to make these folks think you aren't friendly!"

Mr. Hale smoothed out his features, though it seemed to take some effort. "Sorry," he said.

"Scott and Stiles here were just admiring the horses," Miss Hale said. "They're going to be in my class in the fall."

"Good thing," Mr. Hale said, nodding. "Takes a smart man to raise a smart horse, our Pa always says."

"Yes, sir," Scott said.

"If you fellows could do me a favor and get out the word, we're looking to hire some help for the summer, get the house and stables put up. Seventy-five cents a day plus lunch."

"I could do for you, Mr. Hale," Stiles said quickly.

"You don't have to work your own claim?" he asked.

"No, sir," Stiles replied. "My Pa's the sheriff, so we just have a tree claim, doesn't take much minding. And Mr. Finstock only needs me a couple hours a week; he's taught me accounting so I come do his figures."

"Well, you are an enterprising young man, aren't you?" Miss Hale said.

Stiles shrugged. "Everything we can save for college," he said.

"You ever worked on a house?" Mr. Hale asked.

"Helped build your house in town," Stiles said. "And a bunch of the others, just after the Snowy Winter."

Mr Hale raised his eyebrows, and looked Stiles up and down.

Stiles stood up straight; he was nearly as tall as Mr. Hale and he'd put on some muscle in the years since he and Papa had come out to Dakota. Not as much as Mr. Hale, but more than he'd ever had in Chicago.

"Well, come to the house Monday at seven," Mr. Hale said, nodding sharply. "I should know what's what by then."

"Sure thing, Mr. Hale," Stiles replied, and tried to keep from grinning like an idiot.

Mr. Hale paused. "How old are you, anyway?"

"We're both seventeen," Stiles said.

"Well, I'm not much more than five years older than you," he replied, "so drop the mister, and just call me Hale."

"Derek!" Miss Hale said.

"Can't be answering to Mr. Hale all summer, Laura," he said, shaking his head. "Makes me feel like Pa."

She sighed. "You're as bad as Uncle Peter," she said.

"Well, I'd hope _not_ ," Hale said. "Now, if you'll excuse us, I'm going to get my sister out of this heat. Stiles, I'll see you Monday morning."

"You'll see him before that," Miss Hale said. "In church, on Sunday."

"Actually," Stiles said—and this was always the difficult moment—"since it's good weather, Scott and his Ma and my Pa and I will go to Mass over at the mission. Being as we're Catholic and all." He paused. "I hope that's not a problem."

"You'll have no problem with me," Hale said, without a moment's hesitation.

"Good," Stiles replied, relieved. "I'll see you Monday morning."

Hale shook both their hands, and escorted his sister around the side of the depot and into town.

"Gosh, Stiles," Scott said. "You're gonna spend the _whole summer_ around those horses! Just think!"

"Yeah," Stiles said. "Just think."

Stiles went back to work, while Scott was off to the Argent general store. He'd timed his errand to the arrival of the train because he, too, was curious about the new teacher. Scott's girl, Allison, helped out at her father's store, but as her father was away for a week on business it would be a sight easier for Scott to talk to her. Not that Mr. Argent forbade their courtship, but he wasn't entirely pleased that the boy his daughter spent time with was a very young Catholic farmer whose mother's people were Mexican. Stiles would have been angry and resentful at such treatment but Scott pressed on, determined but cheerful, because Scott was an infinitely better person than Stiles was.

Stiles didn't have a girl; he'd never even been close to having one. Since he'd arrived in Beacon, he'd had a fancy for Lydia Martin, whose parents ran the hotel. But Lydia did not receive his attentions at all kindly. She'd had a beau all that time, a rich boy named Whittemore, but his family had sent him off to boarding school very suddenly. It should have left Lydia free and clear for Stiles to pursue, but somehow, that pursuit wasn't going according to plan.

Well, springtime in a farm town was busy anyway. Perhaps the summer, even with his new job, would provide more opportunities.

Stiles pocketed the fifty cents Mr. Finstock gave him for doing the accounting, and headed down the street to see Papa at the Sheriff's office. He was sitting alone on the porch, cleaning one of his guns while also keeping a watchful eye on the saloons across Main Street. Stiles helped himself to a cup of water and sat down next to him.

Papa glanced up, then back to his work. "Finstock is satisfied?" he asked, speaking Polish as they were alone.

"Yes, Papa," Stiles replied, in kind. "I have my fifty cents to put in the jar."

"Good, good," he said. "And you met your new teacher? They walked by a little while ago."

Stiles nodded. "She was nice. Some horses her brother's got," he said.

"Very handsome, I'm sure," Papa said, and for a wild moment Stiles thought he meant Mr. Hale himself.

"Mr. Hale hired me to help him build a house and stables out on their claim," Stiles said. "I thought it might help for college. Seventy-five cents plus dinner. I can pack your dinner in the mornings, I figure, and be home for supper."

Papa hummed, spinning the cylinder of his Colt, and then began to carefully reload it. "I'll want to meet this Mr. Hale first," he said. "If he spends too much time at the saloon, I'll not want you alone with him up at the claim."

"Brother of the teacher?" Stiles said. "He doesn't look the type, anyway."

"Can't always tell by looking."

"He didn't have the shakes from spending the day on the train," Stiles said. "And you should have seen him _with_ those horses. Calm as anything."

"I'm sure he was," Papa said, slipping the revolver back into his holster and turning to Stiles. "When are you to start?"

"Monday morning."

"Then I'm sure I'll see him in town over the next four days," Papa said.

"Please, Papa, don't intimidate him. I can do the job and it's good money."

"Any man who would be _intimidated_ by the sheriff looking into who his own son will be working for shouldn't be out on the prairies alone," Papa said, firmly. "I'd be irresponsible if I didn't seek him out."

Stiles sighed, and slumped back in his chair, biting his tongue to keep from reminding Papa that he was seventeen now, not ten, and might have developed some ability to assess people upon meeting them. He said only, "Yes, Papa. Reckon I'll go start supper now."

Papa clapped one hand on Stiles's shoulder. "I'm proud that you took the opportunity," Papa said.

"Thanks," Stiles replied, and they smiled at each other.

The small house the town gave them as part of Papa's salary stood next door to the sheriff's office. While he had a regular salary, because the county was still somewhat unorganized much of it was paid in kind—the house, a credit line at the Argent store and the drug store, milk and eggs and butter from a rotating set of farmers. Stiles tended a small garden plot behind the house, and the Widow McCall had shown him how to make and put up the preserves and pickles they kept in the cellar. Today Stiles picked some radishes and small, early tomatoes to go with the cottage cheese he'd set aside after dinner, and sliced a few green onions to scatter across the plate. That and some bread and butter would make a fine late May supper.

Maybe it was the prospect of work, of being grown-up enough to take a regular job for college money, or of the arrival of the teacher that was going to prepare him for that college, but Stiles felt a rare moment of reflection. It was a modest life that Papa and he had carved out for themselves on the prairie, after Mama died and everything had gone sideways in Chicago, but it was a good one. He was eager for what was next.

Then he looked out the window and saw Mr. Hale walking down the street toward the general store, his father following along behind, and the brief feeling of contentment shattered. He felt suddenly anxious that Papa would do or say something to put Mr. Hale off, and wondered when a simple carpentry job had become so important. He tried to be fatalistic; if it was to be, it would happen.

But oh, he _wanted_.


	2. (Lydia)

"Lydia," Mrs. Martin said, shaking her head, "I'm very sure that the yellow cotton would be perfectly serviceable for meeting your new teacher. There's no need to _impress_."

"There's every need, Ma," Lydia said, smoothing down the soft pink dress that was her third-best. "I want her to see that I'm taking my college preparations very seriously. I would think she would appreciate that."

"I'm sure she'll understand that from what you _say_ ," Mrs. Martin replied, shaking her head and walking into the kitchen as Allison came out, glasses in her hand.

"Don't be so nervous," she said as she set them down on the parlor table next to the pitcher of lemonade Lydia had just set down. "Scott said they were nice as anything, Teacher and her brother."

Lydia rolled her eyes. "They arrived three hours ago, and of course he's already met them and reported to you."

Allison smiled broadly, entirely uncowed. "I was just helping out at the store and he came by," she said.

"I don't see why you have to help when your father isn't even in town," Lydia said. "Surely he trusts Mr. Harris if he left him in charge in his absence."

"That's not the way things are done in our family," Allison said primly.

There was a knock on the door then; Lydia glanced at the mantel clock and noted that Miss Hale was certainly prompt. "I'll get it, Ma."

Outside were a young man and woman, obviously related. "Hello," the woman said, inclining her head, and the man raised his hat.

"Miss Hale, hello," Lydia said, extending a hand. "I'm Lydia Martin."

"Ah, another one of my students," Miss Hale said, smiling. "This is my brother, Derek."

Mr. Hale's smile was strained, and he carried himself a bit stiffly, but then, he had been traveling for the better part of two days. "Pleased to make your acquaintance," he said, and despite his demeanor, there was something about him that appealed.

"Likewise," Lydia said. "Won't you both come in?"

"My brother is heading to the general store," Miss Hale said quickly, "so he won't be able to join."

Mr. Hale breathed out and Lydia saw him relax slightly. "I am, but I thank you kindly for the invitation," he said.

Lydia gave him her most charming smile, the one just this side of coquettish, and said, "Some other time then."

He bowed. "I look forward to that," he said. To his sister he said, "I'll come by for you in an hour." He touched his hat again, said, "Nice to meet you, Miss Martin," and then strode away purposefully down the street.

Lydia closed the door behind Miss Hale. "I must apologize, if we forgot anything in setting up the house," she said, walking her into the living room.

"No, no," Miss Hale replied. "It's a charming little house and you've supplied us with everything we'll need to get started. But you know the men are just as much gossips as we are, and all of that occurs at the general store. Derek was eager to go and make connections."

"I can testify to that, Miss Hale," Allison said. "My Pa runs that store and in the bad weather it does fill up with gentlemen who seem content to sit and talk for _hours_."

"Miss—Argent, then? Was that the name?" she asked.

"Yes, Allison," she said, and they shook hands.

"I knew a family named Argent once," Miss Hale said. "But that was some time ago and some ways from here, so I'm sure it's not the same. At any rate, I've learned that it's never wise to keep my brother from whatever he's set his mind to."

"Please, have a seat," Lydia said. "Would you care for some lemonade?"

"You know, I would, thank you," Miss Hale said, taking off her hat and setting it on the cushion beside her. "It's so warm, for being so early in the year."

"Not for Dakota," Lydia said.

"Now, Lydia, you aren't talking down the town already, are you?" Mrs. Martin asked, bustling into the room with a tray of cookies. "Miss Hale, so good to see you again and be able to welcome to Beacon!"

"Formerly called Beacon Hills by the railroad developers," Lydia said, "despite the marked absence of anything even approximating a slight rise."

"I'm sure that makes it much easier for the plow," Miss Hale said. "It certainly seems good pastureland out here, which is what my brother has an eye toward."

"I heard about his beautiful horses," Allison said, and at Miss Hale's quizzical look added, "Scott came by the store after he met you."

"As I said, all the news can be had in the general store," Miss Hale replied. "My brother seems to have inherited the knack for breaking horses from my father. He's wonderful with them."

"We're very pleased that Beacon would suit you both," Mrs. Martin said.

Miss Hale nodded. "So, Miss Argent, will you also be in my college preparatory class?"

"Perhaps, if it isn't too full," Allison replied. "Pa and I aren't sure about college for me."

"A class of three students is nothing like full," Miss Hale said. "And your friend Scott McCall also expressed interest."

Allison blushed and tried not to smile. "Did he?" she asked. "He didn't mention that."

"So long as we're focused on what Lydia, Stiles and—I haven't met Mr. Whittemore as yet—but on their needs for getting into college, we should be just fine."

"Oh dear, of course no one has told you," Mrs. Martin said. "The Whittemores have decided to go back east, and put their son in boarding school. Such a shame; he and Lydia were quite close."

Lydia smiled, trying to look as if this news didn't affect her in the least. "There are such things as letters, Ma," Lydia said.

"A book can be an excellent distraction from the absence of a friend," Miss Hale said, smiling back, and unlike the other women in town her expression had no hint of pity in it whatsoever.

Lydia knew what the women said when she wasn't there, how they had consoled her mother over "losing" the connection. It was insulting, as if their lives were a Jane Austen novel. Why, they were written over seventy-five years ago! She changed the subject. "Are there books we should read to prepare for the year ahead?" Lydia asked.

"If you're willing," Miss Hale said, sounding surprised. "The summer is a busy time on a farm."

Lydia nodded. "No sense in waiting, I say."

"Let me think on it, put together a sensible plan you all can fulfill despite your work." She paused, then gave Lydia a penetrating look. "You're very serious about going to college, aren't you?"

"Becoming a college woman is my primary goal, Miss Hale," Lydia said.

"Then allow me to be your partner in that goal, Lydia," Miss Hale replied. "Now, where are you planning to attend? I understand the territorial legislature here in Dakota has recently endowed an agricultural college in Brookings."

"Oh my, no," Mrs. Martin said, smiling. "Lydia will be studying the liberal arts, not attending some sort of trade school."

For her part Lydia wished that her mother could have expressed the sentiment about education without sounding quite so ridiculous; after all, they were in a tiny farm down in Dakota, so Miss Hale's assumption wasn't entirely beneath them. "Stiles and I sent away to various schools for information a few months ago," she said, "and the College of Letters within the University of California would suit us both quite well."

"Very well prepared, I see," Miss Hale replied. "And do you know what you would plan to study?"

"Higher mathematics," she said. "Not exclusively, but primarily. I'm rather good with numbers and concepts and such."

"She quite outstripped her previous teacher," Mrs. Martin said. "That's one reason Beacon contracted your services."

"What college did you attend, Miss Hale?" Lydia asked.

"Oh, Wellesley," she replied. "Have you considered a women's college?"

"I have," Lydia said, sitting forward slightly. "But the prestigious ones are so far away, and with Allison not sure—"

Mrs. Martin interrupted then. "Mr. Martin and I would rather that she attend alongside someone that she knows," she said. "Which would appear to be the Stilinski boy, now that the Whittemores have left us, and in either instance you can see the difficulty that a women's college would present."

"But the Dean at the University of California assured me that many women attend the College of Letters," Lydia added. "Being with other women in full use of their minds would be just so _wonderful_. Here, there's really only Allison."

"I'll be able to add another to that number," Miss Hale said. "My adopted sister Erica will be joining us in the fall. I hope that she will also want to take part in the college preparatory classes, but I would say that she is 'in full use' of her mind as you say."

"As are you, I'm sure, Miss Hale," Allison said.

"That goes without saying," Lydia said.

"Then I sincerely hope that I will not disappoint you," Miss Hale said. "I think we will have a lovely, cozy class and be able to prepare you well for your futures, whatever they may be."

"Of that we have no doubt," Mrs. Martin said. "Would you like a cookie?" she asked, picking up one of the trays.

Lydia allowed Ma to steer the conversation away from education toward more usual topics, such as Miss Hale's journey, ensuring once again that everything in the teacher's house was as it should be, the current minister, that sort of thing. Before too long Mr. Hale had returned to bring Miss Hale back to their home to continue settling in, but Miss Hale made sure to extend invitations to both Lydia and Allison to please call on her any afternoon.

Mrs. Martin hurried off to make sure all was well in the front room of the hotel, leaving Lydia and Allison to clear and clean the dishes from their tea.

"Oh Allison, can you imagine?" Lydia said. "Discussing intellectual issues with someone other than you and Stiles?"

"Well, thank you for that!" Allison said, but she was smiling.

"You know very well what I mean," Lydia said. "You're more than capable, but your extraordinary talents lie elsewhere. And with Stiles, I can't seem to ever keep the topic on intellectual matters and not, say, the color of my hair." She shook her head. "I wish he would stop reminding me that he's a boy. It would make our friendship much simpler."

"Poor Stiles," Allison said. She was inclined to be more sympathetic, but then he was her beau's close friend and also he'd never shown any signs of wanting to court her. "Maybe he'll find a girl at college."

"I hope so, if only so he'll cease in his attempts to court me," Lydia said. "But enough of that—you'll come with me to see Miss Hale some of these days, won't you? At least the first time?"

"If you insist. I did like her, but I suspect that if it's an intellectual discussion you want you'll be more satisfied if I'm not there."

"I've never met a woman who even hinted that she could converse on such a level," Lydia said, smiling widely. "It's really quite stimulating."

Allison raised one eyebrow. "If I didn't know better, I'd say that you have one of those 'pashes" that they write about in boarding-school novels."

"Why, Allison Argent," Lydia said, her face all innocence. "We're good upstanding Christian girls. What would we know about boarding-school novels?"

For just a moment, Allison looked shocked, and then they both laughed.

Lydia said, "Maybe I do have a pash. I don't know that there's a thing wrong with that."

"I don't think so, either," Allison replied, loyally.


	3. (Derek)

In the first week that Derek had Stiles working alongside him, he learned the following:

His given first name was not Stiles, but he categorically refused to say what it was, and apparently the only other person in town who did know was his father, who was respecting his son's wishes and not telling.

He called his father "Papa," and not only spoke Polish at home but had a tendency to say Polish words under his breath that Derek suspected were not, strictly speaking, polite.

He was a hard worker, careful and thorough, who only needed to be shown how to do things once but who would almost always question Derek's methods, suggest alternatives, and insist on trying them out.

He was possessed of no discernible physical grace whatsoever, and seemed to have no sense of where his body was in relation to the house they were building, Derek, or the space around him in general. 

He knew nearly everything that had ever happened in Beacon, thanks to his tendency to eavesdrop on his father's conversations and his own ability to blend into the background when he wanted to.

His eyes, when the sun struck them, were of a deep amber that reminded Derek of very good Tennessee whiskey.

He talked more than any man Derek had ever met in his entire life.

Yet Derek didn't yearn for silence. He was used to a big family, to bustling ranch life, and there was no comfort in the company of his own thoughts. Also, Stiles didn't seem to much mind that Derek listened to him with only half an ear, but to expect it, and to alert Derek when he was going to talk about the work at hand rather than the gossip of the town. Never mind that Derek was grateful to be in on the news; he'd never much liked coming into new situations. So when Stiles offered to take advantage of the sunlight and work past suppertime for an extra dime a day, Derek was happy to oblige.

In that first week, Derek and Stiles had dug out the cellar for the small house Derek had laid out on the ground with line stretched between rocks. It wasn't until week two, as they roughed out the frame, that Stiles told the story of what he referred to as the Snowy Winter, back in '80-81, when the trains didn't come for seven long months.

"What did you do for food?" Derek asked.

Stiles shrugged. "Whole town nearly starved," he said. "Would have, if it wasn't for Greenberg."

"Greenberg?" Derek asked, and tried to remember if anyone in town had mentioned that name.

"Well I should say, Papa and Mr. Argent and Mr. Finstock," Stiles said. "Finstock's been here since they first laid the railroad tracks, and always said there was a settler some miles south of town, whom no one else had ever seen. Figured he'd be out there sitting on a pile of seed wheat, at the least. So in between blizzards, Papa and Mr. Argent went down there to see what was what."

"Could've been a wild goose chase," Derek said.

"Wasn't," Stiles replied. "They came back with enough grain to get everyone through until the trains finally came in May."

Derek's eyes widened. "The snow fell until May?" he asked.

"Off and on," Stiles said, then turned to him and laughed. "Don't worry! It's never like that. Some old Sioux told my dad something about it being the third times seventh winter? Like, every seventh winter is a hard one, and then every twenty-first winter is what we got in '80."

"So we'll have a hard winter in three years?"

"Apparently," Stiles said, "but I'll miss most of it, being at college and all. Which is good, as Papa gets concerned when I get too thin. Half the reason we came out here." Stiles paused, and then as he always did every time the conversation even glanced at his past in Chicago, he zigged. "We all got through it, anyhow."

"Thanks to your Pa and Mr. Argent," Derek said. "Must have brought the town together."

"Did," Stiles said. "Got more people trusting Papa, too, even though we aren't in the church and have a funny name. But plenty of newcomers since then, too. Though some of them wash out and go back east, like Allison's Aunt Kate."

Derek nearly hit his thumb with the hammer, stopped, took a breath. "Aunt Kate?" he asked. "Do you happen to know Mr. Argent's given name?"

"Chris," Stiles replied. "Why?"

"We, uh, we knew their family," Derek said, working around the tremor that came into his hand. "Back east. They lived in our town."

"Huh," Stiles said. "Well, small world."

"Yep." Derek looked up at the sun. "Time for a break, I think," he said.

It wasn't, not nearly, but Stiles didn't say anything, just nodded and set his hammer down. He looked at Derek for along moment, then said, "Race you to the creek?"

"You're on," Derek said, and they were both off like a shot, across the grassland to the small creek that ran across one corner of his claim. It wasn't a far run, five minutes at the most, but it was enough to work the jitters out of Derek's muscles. He was thankful to be overheated and out of breath, splashing water on the back of his neck, anything to distract him from the fact that Kate Argent had lived here, that her "beloved little niece" was in this very town. 

Also, he won the race, though Stiles was more of a good sport than Derek expected from a boy his age. 

"Always lose to Scott," he said, shrugging. "I'm used to it."

"You two are good friends," Derek said.

"The best," Stiles agreed. 

Derek nodded. "My friend Boyd is coming, soon as summer is over," he said. "And my sister Erica and the rest of the horses."

"Another Hale? How many of you are there?"

"There are five of us children, but Erica isn't a Hale, strictly speaking. We took her in when she was little—consumption got her folks."

Stiles nodded. "Got my Mama, too," he said.

"Sorry to hear that," Derek replied. Books made it sound romantic and ladylike, but in real life it was a long, slow, bloody and painful way to go.

"Thanks," Stiles said, and they were silent for a while, letting the light breeze stir their hair. 

"Well, I'm sure you'll be glad when your friend Boyd is here, and you won't have to deal with me," Stiles said.

"Nah," Derek replied, shrugging. "Boyd doesn't do what he's told, neither. And you'll be in school, anyways."

"Could work Saturdays," Stiles said. "That is, um, if you need anyone."

Derek raised an eyebrow. "You interested in horses?" he asked.

Stiles looked over to the field, where David and Jonathan were on a long tether, grazing. "Yours are awfully beautiful."

"They're matched well," Derek said. "Well, I'll think on it. Meanwhile we should get back to work on that house."

They walked back, easily staying in stride with each other, and for once Stiles was content to be quiet. Derek's thoughts drifted back to Kate Argent—surely she hadn't said anything about her "suspicions"—couldn't, without revealing her own tendency to sin. He thought they wouldn't have been appropriate to be shared with a young niece but then, since when had Kate ever been appropriate?

Derek picked up his hammer from where he'd dropped it on the ground. "Tell me another story, Stiles?" he asked.

Stiles looked surprised, then grinned. "Be glad to," he replied.

Derek settled back into the rhythms of working, Stiles's voice like a comforting hum at the back of his mind. Even with the unexpected break they managed to finish the work Derek had laid out for the day, and tucked into the supper Laura had packed for them with their backs leaning against the frame, watching the sun set over the slough.

"So, your sister went to college, but you didn't?" Stiles asked.

"Didn't need it to raise horses," he said. "But Laura and Tom—he's the oldest and a lawyer now in St. Louis—gave me their books, so I dunno. I got some of it." He paused. "Ma always said I was better outside the classroom than in it."

"You read all the books they read in college?"

"Most of them," Derek said, feeling a little shy suddenly. He was so used to people who knew him to always have a book in his hand, but of course Stiles saw him only with the horses and a hammer. "Literature and history and philosophy mostly. Some natural history, too. Didn't manage Latin though."

Stiles was staring at him now, which was unnerving, and Derek wanted to shrink back into himself. At last he said, "Hale, that's downright admirable. Clearly we need to be having intellectual discussions on a much higher level." He grinned.

"Clearly," Derek replied, rolling his eyes, because while he could tell that Stiles was smart as anything, he couldn't imagine him having a so-called "intellectual discussion." Or at least, not of the high-minded sort that Derek remembered Tom having with some of his friends.

"So who makes five?" Stiles asked.

"Five what?"

Stiles counted on his fingers. "You, Tom the lawyer, Miss Hale my teacher, your sister Erica." He held up his thumb. "Who makes five?"

"Cora," Derek replied. "She got married two years ago, at sixteen. Real young but she always was headstrong, and that's what she wanted. Her husband Isaac isn't much older, a tailor now out in California. They have a son already and one on the way."

"Gee," Stiles said. "She's really a grown-up, then."

"Yep. More than any of us except Laura, I'd say." He paused. "So it's just you and your Pa?"

Stiles nodded. "But Scott, he's really like a brother. We were always in and out of each other's houses and such, always together since I came here to live. It'll be a strange thing, going to college without him."

"After I finished school I went out on my own," Derek said. "Worked at some ranches, learned other ways with horses. But I wound up at my Uncle Peter's anyways. Don't know if I'd've left there if Laura hadn't suggested it." He didn't say that it was a damn good thing she had, because there was nothing in Kansas City for him. Oh he'd done well by the horses, trained a few teams and made some good money from his hard work, but the rest he was eager to leave behind. "Always comes back to family, I guess. Well, let's pack up these things and get you back to town before your Pa misses you."

Stiles grumbled, but he stood up nevertheless. "Did he really intimidate you so?" 

"He's the sheriff," Derek said. "He showed me his gun. I'm sure he knows how to use it."

"I also know how to use a gun, because he taught me, and yet you don't seem intimidated by me," Stiles replied.

"That's because I'm not," Derek said. "Also you don't carry one."

"I might!" Stiles said. "I do when I check on the tree claim."

"You do?" Derek asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Jumpers," Stiles said. "Since we don't live out there."

"Ah," Derek said, looking around to make sure they hadn't left anything behind. "Well, when you show me your gun while telling me that you hope nothing happens to your father while he's in my employ, then maybe I'll be intimidated."

Stiles was putting his saddlebag onto Jonathan. "Is that what he did?" he asked. "Oh, Papa. Well, at least your horses like me." 

"They seem to," Derek said, and it was odd, because usually David and Jonathan were standoffish with strangers, particularly Jonathan, but both had taken a fancy to Stiles on the very first day. "Home?"

"Yep," Stiles said. "Let's go home."


	4. (Erica)

_Kansas City, July 30, 1884_

Dear Derek,

In case you're thinking on it, yes, I'm still angry with you. A foal is a poor excuse for leaving Boyd and me behind so you can go be a grown-up and such. 

I hope Laura is keeping you from your worse impulses. At least you have a hired boy to keep you company. Don't like thinking of you being alone too much. You know how dismal you can get, and it's no good indulging it.

As you care more about horses than people, I'll tell you that the Duchess's foal is just fine, coming along real well like we all knew she would. She's made of strong stock and has that gleam in her eye. Whatever your failings, you sure know about breeding horses.

But before you think I'm done being angry, let me tell you I am not. Why do I have to go to school with all the girls in the fall? Why can't I stay out and work on the farm like the big boys do? I'm not aiming to be a teacher nor go to college like Laura. I want to raise horses with you, and I'd learn a sight more from you than from her. No disrespect, mind. But I can read and write and figure just fine and I know history and geography well enough I think, and if I don't, why, I can read books on my own time like you do. I'd have to be in with the boys and girls who brought Laura in to get them to college, and you know they won't care for me at all. Laura's even set me books to read over the summer! (You can tell her that she was right; Uncle Peter has all of them.) It isn't a bit fair, just because I'm a girl.

(Have you met any of these college type students other than your Catholic hired boy with the secret name? Laura doesn't say as much as I'd want to know about the other two girls, especially that outspoken one, Lydia. I reckon if I'm to go to school with them you could at least tell me what they're like. Now that I have some female friends that aren't my sisters I've gotten used to it. I know that school girls heading to college won't be the same as the saloon girls but you're the ones forcing me to go to school.)

Anyways I do have a new dress which I'm dying to show you, and there's a story. Taking care of two horses and a foal isn't a full time job as you know, and Uncle Peter doesn't mind much what we do, so Boyd and I have been helping out at that saloon and hotel downtown. We get two dollars a day between the two of us to see to the horses and keep the stables tidy and we get dinner and supper besides. Plus the girls have been teaching me how to play poker. I know Laura isn't going to be too pleased that I'm sitting around with the saloon girls, but the idea of my ever being a proper lady went out the window the first time you and Pa got me near a horse. 

The girls thought that I could clean up playing poker, on account of men thinking that a woman can't fleece them. They surely don't mind at the saloon if I sit at the table in my trousers and vest and shirt and hat. Some of the men don't realize I'm a girl until they get a good look at me—and sometimes that's after I've won some money off them! I only bet winnings, and I've won ten dollars so far this summer! Ten whole dollars.

Now don't worry about my becoming a gambler because it doesn't seem like steady work the way horses are. People always need horses, and they aren't mad at you when you make money off selling them one. Poker players, though, they can be powerful touchy and you know how good I am at not saying the wrong thing, which is to say, not good at all. Boyd and the regular fellows at the saloon take care of me, and the saloon keeper likes me, but I don't like worrying about such things. I am not planning on it for my future. But for now it's fun. 

And it's nice to be able to give Uncle Peter a little present for putting us up, and have something saved other than our earnings. The girls encouraged me and I got a real pretty dress made for not very much at all. I can't wait for you to see it! It's shiny and green and has a black skirt and I won't bore you with the particulars because you aren't a woman and won't be able to picture it but the girls think I look real nice in it and I do, too.

Real eager to see you again even if I am mad. Send my love to Laura though I know she's reading this, too.

Your sister,

Erica

SECOND PAGE DO NOT SHOW THIS TO LAURA.

The other thing I'm mad about, by the way, is that you've left me here with Boyd and he is pining something fierce for Laura. You'd better get used to the idea because I'm pretty sure that he's going to arrive in town with courting on his mind. He's been saying that he's getting all the saloon out of him now because he's not sure Laura would like a man who plays poker all winter. He's saving up for a buggy so he can take your sister out riding in the spring and fall, and talking about making a little sleigh. And you know he's getting a claim, too.

I hope Laura either picks him up or lets him down easy. Boyd is a good man and out here none of us have to pay no mind to him being a Negro. You know he's smart and a hard worker and he'd take better care of Laura than anyone I can think of other than Pa. Better than you could, and you know that's true.

There's your friendly advance notice. I know how much you hate being surprised by anything.

Also since I have room on this page please do tell me more about the boys and girls I'll be at school with. One good turn deserves another. That's what Ma always says.

Miss you and still mad at you.

Your sister,

Erica

 

_Kansas City, July 30, 1884_

Dear Cora (and Isaac),

As you suspected, Uncle Peter is entirely indifferent to our activities. We've settled into the job at the saloon just fine, Boyd and I, and Uncle Peter doesn't mind much what we're up to so long as I'm not out and about without Boyd along. Which, Boyd is plenty protective and all, but being a white woman accompanied by a Negro can cause as many problems as it solves, frankly. Especially considering my inability to stay quiet when he's insulted, though I'm improving on that score.

The other folks who work at the saloon have taken us in pretty quick, though. They allow Negro clientele so Boyd can be in the room without too much fuss. Of course I wear my trousers to work, since Laura isn't here to stop me and Peter isn't inclined to, and this apparently fascinates the saloon girls, who let me sit with them. I've never had a group of girl friends before— _you_ know, Cora—and the things they are teaching me! Not only poker, at which I am apparently a natural, but also about, well, _intimate_ things that saloon girls know. Even some things that you hadn't told me! 

Such as, did you know that some girls lie down with other girls, as a man might lie down with a woman? These girls do it often, they say, as a respite from the rough men they have to service, and two of the girls are as much sweethearts as you two ever were! Can you imagine? They said that they thought I was one of those sorts of girls—a "tom", they call them, like tomboy I reckon—because I wear trousers. I wouldn't admit this to anyone but you, but while I don't think I am (and _you_ know why), I'm not sure I'm not, either. Is that scandalous to say? 

And some men lie down with other men, too, apparently. They get rooms upstairs in the saloon, where the girls work, only they don't invite any girls in with them. Now the things those cowboys on the ranch were whispering about Derek make sense, about how he never seemed to have a sweetheart and one of the fellas had seen him drinking with some other fella. They always hushed up right quick when they realized I was listening, so I knew it was unkind, at least. But do you think that's why Derek and Laura left? Because I tell you what, it makes me livid to think about it. 

I've made up my mind to say something to Derek when Boyd and I get up there. I still have yet to meet a man that appeals to me as much as he does. (Boyd comes close, but Boyd is sweet on Laura something fierce.) I need a husband who won't mind about the trousers and the horses, and he needs a wife to keep those cowboys from their whispering and get him out of those sulks. I know it'll be odd, with us having the same parents and all, but we don't _really_. We wouldn't have strange babies or anything like that, and that's all that counts. We're less related than cousins, and they marry all the time. I can be useful for him, is all, and besides he's awfully pretty to look at, you have to admit.

So I reckon Boyd and I will both be going up to Dakota with courtship on our mind. Which will make for a very cozy winter, two couples sweet on each other in the same house, don't you think? Anyways you'll be the first one I write with whatever news I have, as always. 

Oh also, with some of the ten dollars that I've made playing poker so far this summer, I have had my own saloon girl dress made. It is green and black and flounces and I'm quite sure Laura wouldn't approve, but Boyd thinks it's real becoming and so do I. (Uncle Peter fell over laughing when he saw it, which I did _not_ appreciate.) I might even wear it for Derek sometime; he's so used to seeing me in trousers and in proper dresses, but maybe looking like a saloon girl would catch his eye?

I've also enclosed this wooden toy for Zachariah. You pull the string and the arms and legs spring right up. I think it's clever. I hope it will keep him amused while you fuss over the new baby when it comes.

Miss you both. Isaac, be sure you take care of Cora in her confinement, and give little Zachariah several hugs from his auntie.

Your sister,

Erica


	5. (Lydia)

Lydia succeeded in convincing Miss Hale to give them a short reading list for the summer, four books that they rotated between them. The boys grumbled, but it wasn't as though Lydia and Allison didn't also have work to do; Allison was always busy in the store and Lydia moved back and forth between the claim and the hotel in town.

Mornings were early; Lydia got a quick breakfast for her parents to eat before they ran into town, Ma to the hotel to fix breakfast for the guests and Pa to open the deed office at the depot. Lydia stayed on the claim to tend to the garden and the cows, both her job now that her sister was married and gone to Colorado. Then she walked into town and picked up whatever dinner her mother set aside to bring to her Pa. Lydia either stayed and ate with him, or went to the store to eat with Allison. In the afternoon she headed over to their hotel to see if her mother needed any errands run and generally made herself useful before helping to make supper for the guests. After supper the handy man took over at the desk and Lydia and her parents went back to their claim to bring the cows in before sundown.

Sundays, though. Sundays were glorious days because after church and dinner at the hotel Lydia stayed in town and visited with either Allison or Miss Hale. Lydia knew Allison missed Scott, didn't even get to see him on Sundays as he didn't go to their church. But she was quiet about it, perhaps not wanting to make Lydia feel sad for missing Jackson, and Lydia appreciated it. They went for long walks through the fields, while Allison killed rabbits and fowl with her bow and arrow, game she often sold to Lydia's parents for the hotel.

"Today I'm going to ask Miss Hale about college life for women," Lydia said to Allison one summer Sunday.

"Are you really?" Allison asked. "Though you know you won't be attending a women's college?"

"Perhaps it is like that everyplace, in a way," Lydia said. "Perhaps the women who want that … find each other."

"Do you want that?" she asked.

Lydia looked at her, surprised that she could ask such a question so casually. "Would that be a terrible thing to want?" Lydia asked. 

Allison shrugged. "You've never struck me as wanting to keep a house," she said.

"You've never struck me as wanting that, either," Lydia pointed out, "and yet you're likely going to, and on a farm no less."

"Well," she replied, smiling, "perhaps not. I do have another path available."

"You mean, you would take up Mr. Cody on his invitation?" Lydia asked. 

During the Snowy Winter an antelope herd was spotted outside of town, and all the men hustled out to get some meat and fend off starvation. The others thought it odd that Mr. Argent brought along his fourteen-year-old daughter, but the Argents had the last laugh when Allison brought down three antelope with her bow while on horseback. The story spread across Dakota Territory like wildfire, though only Lydia knew that Allison's father had a letter from Buffalo Bill Cody himself, inviting Allison to join his Wild West Show. 

"I'm eighteen now, and at the end of the school year I'll have graduated," Allison said. "Legally, Pa can't stop me from doing what I please."

"And Scott?" 

"He'd rather I not go alone, of course," Allison said. "But he also worries about leaving his mother to come with me."

"He'd come with you? But the farm—"

"Plenty of animals at the Wild West Show. Buffalo, even."

"But he would go?" 

"Are you so surprised?" Allison said. "You, who said that I'd marry Scott on the very day I met you both?"

"Not that he would want you with him, but that he would follow you and leave his own life behind, yes. We women are so often possessions for men, however much they might love us."

"Not every man is Jackson Whittemore."

Lydia sighed. "Jackson, _and_ my father, _and_ most of the men in this town! Stiles as well, come to think of it. It would be more accurate, mathematically speaking, to say that not every man is Scott McCall."

"Is that why you're going to ask Miss Hale about women who find each other?" Allison asked. "Don't think I didn't notice that you didn't actually answer my question. Is it more than just a pash, for Miss Hale? Do you think you could feel like _that_ about another woman?"

"I don't know about Miss Hale," Lydia said, honestly. "It might be more. But I … I think I could, yes, for another woman." She paused. "But don't be alarmed. I know where _your_ heart is."

Allison smiled, dimples showing. "I'm not alarmed in the least," she said, and took Lydia's hand in her own. "You're my dear friend."

Lydia could scarcely look at Allison, or even smile back, she felt so relieved and full of affection for her. "Who can say? It might all come to nothing. I might marry some much older farmer and not even go to college at all!"

"That strikes me as highly unlikely, mathematically speaking!" Allison said, laughing.

Later that very same day, Lydia went to Miss Hale's little temporary home. Her brother was building them a real house out on their claim, and Miss Hale was doing her part by getting ready all the linens and other such goods they'd need, not to mention planning her classes for the fall. As she'd planned, Lydia asked her all about college; she was excited to think of doing nothing but reading and studying and writing and discussing the deeper topics of the day. 

"Some of the women I knew at college have decided not to marry," Miss Hale said. "Of course, they come from families of means and therefore do not need a husband to take care of them. They share houses with other women and devote their time to charitable works. Or they become professors at women's colleges, as those women cannot marry."

"Is that …" Lydia leaned forward, even though she and Miss Hale were the only ones in the room. "I have heard the term, 'Boston Marriage.'"

"Ah," Miss Hale said, and nodded.

"But are they—are they really like marriages?" she asked.

Miss Hale raised her eyebrows. "Some of them are," she said. "Some of them are merely companionship between two like-minded people."

"I might like to be a professor," Lydia said.

"You very well might," Miss Hale said, nodding. "You are likely capable of it. But, if I might speak plainly?"

"Of course," Lydia said.

"Perhaps the time to decide is not in the immediate aftermath of a romantic disappointment?"

Lydia paused. "I think that the extent of my disappointment has been somewhat overstated," she replied. "By my mother, at least."

"I see," Miss Hale replied.

"Do not misunderstand me," Lydia said. "Jackson and I were good friends—are good friends. And I may well have married him, and may or may not have gone to college, and then had a rather traditional life as a wife and mother. But he didn't throw me over."

Miss Hale cocked her head. "Oh?" she asked.

"No," Lydia said, and let herself smile; it was a triumph of a sort, even if she couldn't share it with many others. "Actually, his grandmother took him away because our marriage was only too inevitable. His father's family hadn't thought that a suitable woman could be found in a little town in Dakota Territory, but once they met me, they saw that in order to ensure that he married a nice eastern girl they would have to remove him from my company."

"Well, that is another matter entirely," Miss Hale said. "I must say, I cannot imagine many who could have standards which you would not easily surpass."

"Thank you," Lydia said, smiling, because while she knew it to be true it was still encouraging to have this validated by someone who'd gone to college in the east, particularly a woman as intelligent and beautiful as Miss Hale. "And you? Are you interested in an unconventional life?"

Miss Hale's eyes darted off to the side and she laughed a little nervously. "I might be," she said. "For the right person, I think."

Lydia's heart did a little flip. Surely Miss Hale didn't mean that she wanted that with Lydia? And yet, thinking about it now, Lydia could see it, an entire life filled with conversations like this one. Perhaps Lydia could train to be a professor and bring Miss Hale along with her. They could keep house in a picturesque little cottage and be the envy of all their students.

Just then Mr. Hale came into the house. "Hello, Laura," he said. "Miss Martin."

"Derek, how was your drive?" Miss Hale asked.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Lydia said. "Did I keep you from going out on a ride behind those beautiful horses?"

"Not at all; it was too hot for me today," Miss Hale replied.

Mr. Hale scowled. "The air is unsettled. Think there's a storm coming." He turned to Lydia. "Saw your folks at the hotel and they were eager to get back to the claim before it hit, so I told them I'd bring you back, myself."

Miss Hale smiled widely. "How thoughtful of you, Derek!" she said. 

"Wouldn't want you to have to cut your visit short," Mr. Hale replied, a bit gruffly, which Lydia had long since learned was the typical reaction of a prairie man to having been caught doing something kind.

"Yes," she said, with her most charming smile. "Thank you so much, Mr. Hale."

He nodded, then said, "Mail came in on yesterday's train." He pulled two envelopes from his coat. "You got a letter from Boyd. Feels pretty thick, too." He set it down in front of Miss Hale and there was a twinkle in his green eyes. 

"Derek!" she protested. "I'm sure it's no thicker than the regular letter."

"I don't know," Mr. Hale said, looking at the envelope in his hand. "It's definitely bigger than mine from Erica, and being as they're in the same place I can't imagine that Boyd has more news."

"I'll read it later," she said, tucking it away, but she was blushing and looking pleased despite her brother's teasing. 

Lydia knew that look; she saw it every time Scott came into the general store to see Allison. "Is Mr. Boyd also your kin?" she asked.

"No, he's a friend," Mr. Hale replied. "Met him in Kansas City on my uncle's ranch. He and our adopted sister Erica are staying there for the summer, but are headed up here in the fall with the rest of the horses. Trying to get the house and stables ready for all of us."

"Erica will be at school with you, Lydia," Miss Hale said. "Boyd is a good bit older."

"I see," Lydia said, and her heart was flipping again but for very different reasons. "I'm sure you're looking forward to their arrival."

Mr. Hale looked about to say something, but Miss Hale quickly said, "I'm sure we both are," and Mr. Hale chuckled.

"I should leave you to read your letter," Lydia said, gathering her things. 

"Oh, you needn't," Miss Hale said. "I can read it any time."

"Of course, but I wouldn't want the storm to catch Mr. Hale on his way back to you." She smiled her brightest, prettiest smile, the one that put people at ease. "Not after he made such a generous offer to drive me home."

"Well," Mr. Hale said, "I wouldn't mind outrunning it, and that's a fact."

"Then please come back soon," Miss Hale said, rising as Lydia did. "I had a lovely afternoon."

"As did I," Lydia replied, because she _had_ , really. Even the realization that she wouldn't be sharing a cottage with Laura Hale wasn't the worst news she'd heard lately. It had only been the dream of a moment. Besides, Mr. Hale had just shown a flash of humor that she'd never seen before. And his sister had come to town expressly to help Lydia get to college, and had been to college herself, so he might not be like all the other farmers, wanting a docile young wife to keep house for him.

At least, she had an entire mile-long buggy ride back to the claim behind the loveliest horses in town to find out.


	6. (Stiles)

It seemed odd, to Stiles, to be in the depot in the middle of the day once again. Hale's house was all but finished, and his friends from Kansas City were coming in on the train that very day, so he'd given Stiles the day off—with pay, which was awfully generous. So he was taking advantage by coming in and doing Finstock's books, rather than doing them late at night or in the early morning as he had for the past two months. 

It was just a coincidence that those friends of Hale's, as well as his other horses, were coming in on the twelve-thirty train. 

Scott arranged his errands in town around Stiles's day off, not only because he was a pal but because of course he wanted to see those horses. So Stiles made a lunch for him, too, when he made one up for himself and his dad. Just past noon Lydia came in to see her father, Allison in tow, and Stiles let himself hope that Lydia had come to see him, rather than being convinced by Allison so _she_ could spend time with Scott. 

But Lydia's first remark upon seeing him was not to notice how muscular and manly he'd become thanks to a summer of physical labor. No, instead she looked him up and down, and then said, "My goodness, Stiles, how tanned you are!"

It didn't sound like a compliment.

"Stands to reason," Stiles replied. "Been building a house."

"So I heard. Mr. Hale mentioned he was very impressed with your work."

"When did you talk to Hale?" Stiles asked.

Allison giggled. "When he beaued her home from his sister's house on Sunday," she said.

"He did not beau me home!" Lydia said. "He was simply doing Pa a favor."

"Yes it was very generous of him," Mr. Martin said, but he sounded amused.

Stiles glanced at Scott, who was looking at him sympathetically. But what could he do? It wasn't as though Lydia had come to Stiles and cried on his shoulder after Jackson was sent away. And he certainly couldn't compete with Hale in any way that mattered. Hale was intelligent and well-spoken, when he did speak; while he was serious he could see a joke; and then there were those infamous horses, and if they didn't make the ladies swoon then his handsome face would. 

Stiles didn't have a team and buggy; the sheriff had a fast horse for himself and a slower but reliable one for Stiles. Scott was making himself a cutter in his free time, so he could take Allison out for sleigh rides in the winter. Stiles wasn't sure what he was going to do about that. Walks weren't nearly as nice in January—not that Lydia was really the walking sort.

He hoped that courting at college would be a little less complicated.

Stiles had tuned out of whatever conversation Scott and Allison were having, but he did hear the train in the distance. "Here she comes," he said.

The Hales had gone straight to the little shelter on the platform, as Stiles could see out the window of the depot. Hale was in his working clothes, no doubt because it would be easier for him to wrangle the horses that way. 

"All right, boys," Finstock said. "Go ahead out but don't get in the way. That Hale knows what he's doing."

"Yes, sir," they said, and made their way out the door to the platform. The girls stayed inside, of course, but even they moved to the window to watch the proceedings.

A man and a young lady got off the train and moved quickly toward the Hales. Hale had told Stiles that his friend Boyd was a Negro, and Stiles had said that since the town doctor was a Negro, it probably wouldn't be any more of a problem than anything else. This was the west: there were lots of different sorts of folks up against each other. Scott's mother was Mexican and they didn't get too much gruff for it, really. Sometimes a new person came to town and tried to make something of it, or of Papa's accent, but that got put down by the other townsfolk right quick.

What was more surprising to Stiles was the young lady. She was wearing traveling clothes, a dress and hat, but as soon as she got off the train she handed her satchel to Miss Hale and made her way down the platform to the other car where the men waited. As they led the horses out and into the nearby stables—there were two more teams, plus a foal—she showed that she was easily as good with the animals as any of them, and was the only one other than Derek that the dam allowed near her foal. She was carefully leading that foal out along the platform to the stables when she looked up and caught Stiles's eye, and smiled at him. Stiles found himself smiling back without thinking, even though they hadn't yet been introduced.

Scott and Stiles went inside after that, to finish their lunch. The Hales and their friends came in sometime later, likely after having loaded Derek's wagon with the trunks and other luggage. Hale introduced his friend Vernon Boyd and his adopted sister, Erica.

"Erica will be in your school," Hale said; hearing that, she made a face, and Stiles couldn't help but snicker behind his hand. 

"It'll be nice to have some more folks in the class," Scott said.

"Thank you," Erica said. Thick, honey-blonde curls were arranged in a sort of pile atop her head that reminded Stiles of the ladies at the saloon at whom he wasn't supposed to be looking. Her brown eyes were warm, but she wasn't smiling now, her mouth pressed into a firm line, and one curl behind her ear had escaped and draped down to her shoulder. Stiles noticed that she was standing quite close to Hale, her hand firmly clasped in his.

"Yes, it will," Lydia said, moving forward, her head tilted just slightly, wearing a smile that Stiles recognized. "I wanted to thank you again, Mr. Hale, for bringing me home the other day. I'd thought that David and Jonathan were gorgeous, but I saw just now that you were holding back your most beautiful team."

Allison raised her eyebrows and glanced over at Stiles, who was doing his best not to react. He wouldn't have thought, from the way Lydia was speaking just moments ago, that she would have raised the subject with Hale, but clearly he'd misread the situation.

Hale shuffled his feet slightly, and Stiles wanted to laugh at that familiar mixture of pride and slight embarrassment that came over him any time someone complimented his horses. "If you're referring to those two black horses, Caesar and the Duchess are the best team I've ever had," he said. "But the Duchess is still nursing her foal, and Caesar doesn't drive so well without her."

"Oh, a horse romance!" Lydia said. "It's like a fairytale."

Stiles had to avoid even looking at Allison, who was probably the only person in the room who fully understood what Lydia was up to. But then he saw the glare in Erica's eyes and felt rather badly; he knew what it was like to get trampled under Lydia's machinations.

"I reckon it is," Hale replied, though he sounded a bit surprised by the comparison. He turned to Erica, lifting up their joined hands, and Erica's face immediately changed to a more pleasant expression. "Erica's taken care of that foal like it was her own. I could come here with Laura knowing I was leaving them in good hands."

Erica's fair skin flushed as she beamed with pleasure, her smile even brighter than the one she'd given Stiles earlier. "Thank you, Derek," she said.

Hale smiled back. "Anyways," he continued, "we'll be weaning in a few months, so the Duchess should be eager to come out once the snow falls."

"Just the right time," Mr. Martin said. "Sleighing parties are real popular here in Beacon." 

Lydia smiled and nodded.

Stiles remembered the previous winter, when Jackson would take Lydia and sometimes also Allison around in a sleigh big enough to seat four, smirking at Scott and Stiles as he drove by them. Hence Scott working so hard on his cutter.

Hale glanced at Stiles, who shrugged slightly. "Well," Hale said, "I'm sure Caesar and the Duchess would want to join in, if Miss Martin would oblige." He looked as though he were surprised that those words had come out of his mouth.

Lydia's eyes flashed in triumph, which was always when Stiles secretly considered her at her most beautiful. "I would be happy to," she replied.

Stiles pulled his eyes away from Lydia, because there was little more pathetic than mooning over a girl just after another fellow had offered to take her sleigh riding. Allison's lips were pressed together as if she were trying not to laugh, and even Miss Hale looked amused. Boyd seemed more confused than Hale, but Stiles gave him the benefit of the doubt as he had only just met Lydia. 

Erica's eyes were flashing too, but not with anything like triumph. She turned to Stiles, and he tried his best to look sympathetic but not pitying, even though he wasn't sure why a girl wouldn't want her brother courting Lydia. He'd known her for less than an hour, but already he wanted to see the carefree, confident girl from the train platform. He smiled at her, just a little, and she smiled back, though she grasped Hale's hand just a little tighter.

"Well, we should go settle in," Miss Hale said.

Hale nodded. "Stilinski, I'll see you in the morning?"

Stiles blinked; he realized that he'd just assumed that working for Hale would end once his friend had arrived. "If you need me," he said.

"Still got the stables to finish, and some of the interior work," he said.

"Sure thing, Hale," Stiles replied, and with that, the Hales and their friend left the depot.

Scott turned to Allison then, and said, "I was keeping it for a surprise, but you'd do me a real favor if you didn't accept any sleigh ride invitations until I finish making my cutter."

Allison smiled. "Made and not boughten?" she asked. "Then I'd be happy to wait."

And that, there, was why they suited. Stiles couldn't even be jealous of them, or maybe he was so jealous he didn't even notice anymore.

"We should be getting along," Lydia said.

"I'll walk you back to the hotel," her father said, and they packed up their things.

Then Scott said: "You know, Lydia, Stiles has been riding behind those horses nearly every day all summer. He'll probably meet Hale's new team long before you will, too."

Lydia pursed her lips. "It's not the same thing at _all_ , Scott," she said, and followed her father out the door, Allison close behind her.

Scott sighed. "Sorry," he said. "Just, watching her tricking Hale like that, and right in front of you!"

"It's all right," Stiles said. 

"I don't know," Scott said. "That new girl, Erica, she was kinda pretty, wasn't she?"

Stiles had to smile at Scott's loyalty. "I liked her," Stiles said. He thought of her on the platform with the horses, and that he'd see her tomorrow. Then he thought of Hale, and that even clouded with confusion his eyes were finer than Lydia's triumphant ones. 

But Lydia was right. It wasn't the same thing at all.


	7. (Derek)

Settling in to Beacon life wasn't as difficult as Derek had worried that it would be, even with the Argent complication. When he first visited the general store after Chris Argent returned to town, he was remembered, given a cool but cordial welcome, and Kate wasn't mentioned. Derek could manage polite coexistence if Chris Argent could.

The stables were finished, and any other work on the house could wait until after the hay was in. Erica was more than capable of doing for the horses on her own, so Boyd, Stiles and Derek were free to make hay while the hot late summer sun shone down to cure it. Between Boyd's claim and his own they'd have plenty of food for the horses that winter. Two men were best for haying, so at Stiles's suggestion they traded work with his friend Scott McCall, though the teams broke up not with Stiles working with Scott, but working with Derek. Stiles had said it was because they'd been working together all summer; Derek tried not to ascribe any other meaning to it. 

Stiles told stories of the people of Beacon burning twisted hay to keep warm during the Snowy Winter, after the trains stopped bringing them coal. He didn't talk nearly as much during haying as he did during housebuilding. Haying was a breathless sort of job, with stamping the hay down and raking and climbing up and down the tall sides of the hay wagon. Stiles's white work shirt was soaked through with sweat and all but transparent, clinging to chest muscles that Derek was fairly sure hadn't been there at the beginning of the summer. 

Derek whacked himself in the shin with the pitchfork to remind himself that he shouldn't be having such thoughts, as they only led to trouble.

"What are you doing?" Stiles asked, because Stiles was always watching.

"Slipped," Derek said, sighing. "We're about done with this load, anyways." He pitched up five more forkfuls, then climbed up to the top of the wagon and drove back to the stable.

"Thanks for keeping me on, after your friend came," Stiles said. "Every little bit helps and there hasn't been as much construction work in town as there was in past years."

Derek blinked; he'd never even considered telling Stiles to stay home once Boyd arrived. They had enough to do to get Boyd's claim in some kind of shape before winter, and besides, Derek had grown used to working alongside Stiles. "Wasn't a problem," he said.

They were quiet for a bit, and then Stiles said, "If you have more work in the fall, Papa says I might go to school late, with the other boys."

"You don't usually?" Derek asked.

"College," Stiles said. "We aren't farmers, and Papa doesn't like me to help him with his work. But if we study at night I reckon Scott and I can keep up with Miss Hale's class on our own, for a month or so."

"That's what I did," Derek said, nodding. "You're welcome to stay. I'm sure there'll be plenty to do."

"Thank you," Stiles said. Then: "You'll be wintering on the claim?"

"No, so I'm glad we've moved out here now; we can get three months in before snow and that's enough for Uncle Sam. I would stay, but I don't want Laura and Erica to worry about going back and forth to the town school."

"Storms can come up fast and that's a fact," Stiles said. "But that's good; easier for you to join in on those sleighing parties."

"I reckon," he replied, gritting his teeth against the idea of Stiles, cozy under the furs next to him in a sleigh and laughing. He needed to get a handle on this. And yet, he couldn't bear to not have Stiles working with him. Well, Laura always said there was no one like Derek for self-torture. At least they were at the stables now, and the time for talking was done. 

"All right," he said, hopping down and leaving the pitchfork with Stiles. Work would burn this out of him, surely. "Send it down, and let's get it stacked."

"Sure thing," Stiles said, hopping to his feet and nearly knocking himself in the head with the pitchfork. "Ow."

Derek sighed. It was going to be a long autumn.

* * *

Derek knew there was an argument brewing as soon as Erica got to Beacon, and in typical fashion it boiled over on a Sunday afternoon, when there were no other distractions. After church, Boyd rode out to his own claim to take a walk around. Thankfully Erica waited until he'd left before she said anything.

"I still don't see why I can't go back to school in the winter, with the boys," she said.

"Because you're a girl," Laura replied, not even looking up from her book.

"But I could be helping Derek with the horses, like I always do."

"I'm sure he can get along without you."

Derek nodded. "I went to school until I was eighteen. And you know what Pa always says."

"Takes a smart man to raise a smart horse, I know," Erica replied, sullenly. 

"No matter how good you are with the horses, we can't have you living like a man, like some Calamity Jane," Laura said. "What would Ma say?"

Erica scowled, and looked like she was struggling to hold her tongue. "It's true that I'd rather wear good work trousers than hoops. But I did get a new dress."

"I saw that dress," Laura said, closing her book and putting it on the table beside her. "And I can't fathom what Uncle Peter was thinking, allowing you to spend time in a _saloon_ and you only seventeen."

"I guess I made out all right," Erica replied. "Boyd was there, and he wouldn't let anything happen."

"He shouldn't have been put in that position," Laura said. 

"Which would you rather, Laura?" Erica said. "That I stay on the farm and work, or go to town and work?"

"I'd rather that you behave like the young lady you are."

"Well, we both know that ain't gonna happen."

" _Isn't_!" Laura shouted, leaping to her feet. "When you turn eighteen you can do as you please, but until then you are going to _stay in school_ and make some _respectable_ girl friends this fall, even if I have to drag you kicking and screaming. And don't think I won't." She took her poke bonnet from the peg on the wall. "Talk some sense into her, would you, Derek? I'm going for a walk." And with that, she was out the door.

Erica turned. "Derek—"

"Don't," he said, holding up a hand. "Even if I didn't agree with her, which I do, I wouldn't go against her. This is her lookout and you know it."

"But what will it matter?" she asked. "I'm just going to stay here and raise horses with you, and maybe we can be married—"

"Married?' Derek asked, and stood. 

"Oh," Erica said, sounding surprised. "I didn't—I didn't mean for it to come out like that. I meant to get you used to the idea, with us working alongside each other again. Now that I'm old enough."

"Old enough for what?" 

"Cora was younger than me when she got married," Erica said. "I know you've always seen me as a child, but I'm not anymore. My hair is up and I have a corset and a long dress and all of it. I thought I might, well, court you."

"But, but you're my sister!"

"Not really," Erica said, smiling. "Not in the way that matters for marrying. Uncle Peter thinks you might be waiting for me, and that's why you haven't had a sweetheart."

Derek felt as though all the air had left his lungs. He slumped against the doorframe. "I didn't realize people were speculating. So many unattached men out this way."

"You're a young man, handsome enough, and you have Pa's knack with horses which makes you a good provider," she said. "People wonder why you aren't courting. Or at least, they did in Kansas City."

He couldn't think of how he'd even got himself into this position, let alone how to get out. He knew well enough why he hadn't been courting, but he'd hoped that he'd been hidden in the crowd. And now with Erica, what could he possibly do? He could take advantage of her, have a life of a sort—but she deserved much better than he could give her.

He shook his head, slowly. "I'm not waiting for anyone."

There was a horrible silence after that, the two of them still looking into each other's eyes. He worried that she would think he didn't love her enough, when actually he loved her too much to marry her.

Erica nodded, and threw her head back. "Well, that's all right," she said. "I shouldn't have got so far ahead of myself." Her voice quavered, and she cleared her throat.

Derek stood up straight and held out his hands, because Erica looked about as miserable as he felt. "Come here," he said, and when she hesitated he beckoned her until she walked into his embrace.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice muffled by his shirt.

"Me, too," he said. "But I'll always be your brother. That won't change, ever. And you'll always have a home with me if you need it."

"I probably will," she said, and her laugh was shaky. "Where am I going to find a husband who doesn't mind seeing me in trousers or that I spend the day with the horses instead of in the kitchen?"

"Any man who's had your cooking," he said, and her laugh was more steady, now. "I think you'll be surprised. Out here there's a lot more women doing men's jobs and folks don't look down on it too much. Once you stop looking at me I expect you'll find him."

"Maybe," she said, though she didn't sound too convinced. "And what about you? Are you really going to court Lydia Martin?"

Lydia Martin! For whom even a handsome young horse rancher was likely a step down, but who was forward and restless enough to goad him into taking her sleighing this winter, and who was leaving for college in a year's time. Perhaps that was the way out he was looking for.

Aloud, he said, "She's an interesting young lady. I wouldn't mind getting to know her better. Would that upset you?"

"I doubt I have any right to be upset," she said.

"I don't know about that," Derek said. "What I asked was, would you be?"

Erica sniffled. "Maybe I'd better go to school if just to see if she's worthy of you."

"That's the ticket," Derek said. 

Erica lifted her head from his chest. "Think Laura would be pleased if I started dinner?"

"I'm sure she would," he replied.

She walked toward the kitchen, then turned and said, "What about Stiles?"

"What about him?"

"Do you think he'd let me wear trousers and raise horses?" she asked.

Derek was taken aback for the second time that day, though he managed not to show it. But he'd seen how Stiles had looked at Erica over the past few weeks—admiring and a little afraid. "I think that Stilinski would probably let you do any damn thing you put your mind to," he replied.

"All right," Erica said, and left the room.

Derek sat down in his chair and picked up his paper, though he wasn't reading it. This would be good. Kate had lied to him in many ways, but the one truth she'd told him is that he'd never find love, that hearts and flowers weren't for him. Having Stiles for a brother-in-law was honestly more than he should have hoped for, and courting Lydia and having her leave him for some college fellow would provide enough cover for him to age into perhaps paying some attention to a respectable widow who wouldn't ask too much of him, would just be grateful to have a husband. There, now that was a workable plan. 

And he'd put that plan into action, just as soon as his chest stopped feeling quite so tight.


	8. (Erica)

So, Erica went to school.

She and Laura would be riding to town every morning with Derek, as he was coming in to get Stiles and do any errands that needed running. Erica sat in the back of the wagon, and couldn't help but sigh as she watched the stables recede into the distance.

"Stop worrying about that foal," Derek said. "You'll be home morning and evening to feed her. I'll begin to think you don't trust me with her."

"You likely don't remember this because you were so small," Laura said, "but when Pa gave Derek his first horse he didn't want to come to school, either. Cried the whole night before the first day of school."

Erica turned around. "Did you _really _?" She couldn't imagine it. She'd seen Derek broody and out of sorts, frustrated, even unhappy, but nothing close to tears.__

__"I was eleven!" Derek said. So Erica would have been five, not old enough yet to be paying close attention to what he did. That didn't start until after the barn fire, when she was eleven herself, and they had to let her help with the new horses because they were working hard to rebuild Pa's stock. Derek's first horse died in that fire, Erica remembered._ _

__"Of course I trust you, Derek," Erica said._ _

__"I know," he replied, and they were silent for a while after that._ _

__Then Laura turned in her seat to face Erica. "I meant to say how proud I was that you kept up with the college class by reading those books over the summer," she said._ _

__"Oh," Erica said, surprised. She couldn't remember the last time Laura had said anything of the sort to her. She'd thought herself something of a disappointment as a sister, what with her tomboy ways and her attachment to horses and general dislike of fancy ladies' work like embroidery. "Thank you."_ _

__"There you go, then," Derek said, patting Laura on the hand, and they said no more until they arrived in town._ _

__The schoolhouse was a good size for the bustling town, all whitewashed boards and a bell just outside the door. Small boys and girls were playing in the yard, and two big girls stood on the porch, their books and slates nearby. Erica recognized them both from their brief meeting at the train depot: the brunette Allison, friendly but wary, and titian-haired Lydia, bold but charming._ _

__"Hullo, Miss Hale!" the girls said as Erica and Laura came up the steps._ _

__"Hello, girls," Laura said, smiling. "You remember my sister, Erica."_ _

__"Hello," Lydia said, looking her up and down carefully. But Erica had no worries about that; Laura was a harsher judge than any girl in town could be. "Welcome to Beacon."_ _

__"Thank you," Erica said. Laura nodded and went ahead into the schoolhouse, unlocking the door with her key._ _

__Allison leaned forward. "Won't it be difficult to have your sister as Teacher?" she asked._ _

__"She's nine years older than me," Erica said, smiling, "so I'm used to her bossing me around."_ _

__"Are you also looking to go to college?" Lydia asked._ _

__"I doubt it," she replied, "as college isn't going to make me into a better horsewoman."_ _

__"Well," Lydia said, picking up her books and slate, "see that you don't fall behind. Some of us have greater ambitions." She walked into the schoolhouse in a swirl of skirts._ _

__Allison looked apologetic. "Lydia's very serious about her studies, is all."_ _

__"Understandable," Erica replied, because she knew a thing or two about people who took things too seriously._ _

__The best part about Lydia being so snooty was that Erica had the chance to prove her wrong, which was one of her favorite activities. Usually it happened in the matter of horses, such as someone declaring a horse untrainable and she and Derek showing otherwise, or a man questioning why a girl was in the stables. Erica didn't have Laura's quick mind, but she could hold her own._ _

__Allison and Lydia sat together, of course, so Erica took the seat in front of them and watched the other students coming in after Laura rang the bell. By the time Laura had finished asking students their names and grouping them into classes it was time for morning recess. Lydia and Allison sat in the window talking quietly, but the day was so nice that Erica left them to it and went outside._ _

__The boys, most of whom were four or five years younger than Erica, were putting together a quick game of baseball. They only had time for a few at-bats before Laura was ringing the bell again, but watching them Erica could see what was missing._ _

__"You need a pitcher," she said to the boys as they walked past her into the schoolroom._ _

__A boy named Charley gave her the once-over. "You volunteering?" he asked._ _

__"I'm better than what you've got," she said with a shrug._ _

__"Dinnertime," Charley replied, then rushed to his seat while Laura called for them all to settle down._ _

__Lydia, who'd been watching the exchange, sniffed disapprovingly before turning forward in her seat, and Erica had to smile at that._ _

__In the late morning, the three big girls were called to recite geography and history, and Erica answered every question set to her. Allison and Lydia did too, of course, and Erica could tell that she'd have to work hard to hold her own. Lydia in particular was very quick, and had apparently surpassed even Laura in mathematics. But at least Erica had proven to Lydia that Laura was right to have faith in her abilities to be in the same class. Lydia could sniff at baseball all she wanted._ _

__At the dinner break, Lydia and Allison went to the Martin Hotel, while Erica and Laura shared their lunch at Laura's desk. When Erica went outside, Charley spotted her and tossed her the ball._ _

__She jumped and caught it. "Still need a pitcher?" she asked._ _

__"Sure do!" Charley said, apparently impressed by Erica's catch._ _

__She nodded and walked to the center of the small field next to the schoolhouse that served as a playground. The boys had laid out a rough diamond, marking the bases with empty feed sacks, but they weren't really on teams, more one boy at bat while the rest fielded. Charley was the leader, getting the other boys into place before taking the first at bat for himself._ _

__"All right," he called out._ _

__Remembering that they were small town boys playing for fun, Erica threw her first pitch straight down the middle. Charley hit the ball squarely and it flew over Erica's head and landed near the back edge of the playground. He was so stunned he stood still for a second before throwing down the dowel they used as a bat and running the bases; he was easily able to make it to home before the other boys got the ball back to the infield. Of course, the fact that the boys were too busy cheering for Charley to field properly had something to do with that, too._ _

__"Can you pitch that way for all of us?" Charley asked._ _

__"Yes," Erica said, "but only so you boys get better at catching the ball!"_ _

__By the time each of the boys had taken his turn at bat, Erica was breathless and had to re-pin a strand of hair, but it was worth it. She came back inside a bit before the bell was to ring._ _

__"Where did you learn to play baseball?" Allison asked, and at least she was smiling._ _

__"My brother Derek," Erica replied. "He's quite a good player, even had some thoughts of playing for one of the local teams, but he wouldn't leave his horses, so."_ _

__"That shows good sense," Lydia said, "not to leave one's profession for a game that boys play."_ _

__"I suppose," Erica said. "But he still plays, from time to time. He does love the game. I'm surprised he hadn't mentioned that to you, Lydia, with you being such good friends and all."_ _

__Lydia flushed and looked uncomfortable. "I don't believe I ever said that," she said, and sat down in her seat._ _

__Erica bit her lip to keep from grinning; if Lydia was going to be this much fun to provoke, Erica might not mind if Derek courted her._ _

__When school ended a few hours later, Erica was surprised to see David and Jonathan hitched up not to the wagon, but to the buggy—and Stiles had the reins._ _

__He hopped out of the buggy to help them in. "Hale had a few more things to take care of and didn't want you ladies to wait."_ _

__"That was very thoughtful of both of you," Laura replied as she slipped into the back seat._ _

__"And he gave express orders that I'm to hand the reins over to you, Erica."_ _

__Erica grinned: it was like Derek to give her a nice surprise for her first day at school, and then not be present to be thanked. Stiles was helping her into the buggy when a girl behind them spoke._ _

__"Hello, Stiles. Seems strange to be in school without you."_ _

__"Lydia!" Stiles said, surprised, and turned to her. He let go of Erica, leaving her slightly off-balance, and she wobbled before stumbling into the seat._ _

__"Oh, gosh, I'm sorry," Stiles said, flailing to help her as Lydia snickered behind a hand._ _

__"I think you'll find that Stiles can be a little unreliable," Lydia said. "He loses focus."_ _

__"Stiles is all right," Erica said, more annoyed that she could feel her cheeks heating up than anything else. "And I guess I can get into a buggy by myself."_ _

__Lydia raised her eyebrows. "I wouldn't know," she said airily. "I've never had occasion to."_ _

__"Of course not," Stiles said, smiling at her._ _

__"Well, we should move along," Erica said. "Where are we to meet Derek?"_ _

__"At the depot," Stiles said, getting the hint and climbing into the buggy himself. "Nice to see you, Lydia. You too, Allison."_ _

__"See you soon," Allison said, waving as Erica drove them away._ _

__Stiles must have noticed that Erica was still scowling, as he started to talk nervously. "Sorry about that," he said. "Lydia's right; I do lose focus."_ _

__"I've never known you to," Erica said, but she knew what men could be like around girls they fancied and she was sure she'd just seen that with Stiles. What it was about this girl that got the boys is what Erica wanted to know. Well, no matter how pretty or smart or charming she was, she couldn't have Derek _and_ Stiles. That plain wasn't fair. _ _

__They were quiet until they arrived at the depot, where Derek waited outside._ _

__He climbed straight into the back with Laura. "And how was the first day?"_ _

__"Eventful," Erica said, turning the buggy north on the road to their claim._ _


	9. (Stiles)

By mid-November, most of the folks who'd been living out on their claims since the spring were coming into town, setting up house in offices and the backs of stores. They wanted to winter where supplies were more readily available and their children could come to school without fear of being stranded in a blizzard. The big boys were back at school, and this year that included Stiles, who'd been working at the Hale place all fall to save as much money as possible for college. Scott had got his corn and wheat in, and he and his mother had a small place on Second Street, only a few steps away from the Sheriff's house. The Hales were renting the Teacher's house they'd stayed in during the summer, before Stiles and Hale had finished their house on the claim, and Boyd was with them. It was nice, not being the only one living in town.

But winter Sundays were the drawback. The Stilinskis and McCalls didn't chance the trip to the mission for fear of storms, so there was no Mass, no Sunday School with the other Catholic children in the area, no hearing other adults speaking Polish with Papa or Spanish with Mrs. McCall. Being in town and hearing the bell ring for a church that everyone else belonged to, Stiles couldn't help but feel his exclusion, and yearn for the community surrounding the mission. The two families still gathered for Sunday dinner, but it wasn't the same.

What made it worse on this November Sunday was that instead of sitting around with Stiles and their parents after dinner, Scott brought out his new handmade cutter and took Allison sleigh-riding. Stiles left Papa with Mrs. McCall and walked back to his own home, hoping God wouldn't mind if he got ahead on some of his reading for school. After all, they weren't _Presbyterians_. (Or was that Congregationalists? Protestant denominations confused Stiles; he couldn't keep them straight.) 

Turning onto Main Street, he saw the sleigh-riding party that he'd only been able to hear at the McCall house. Several teams decorated with strands of ringing bells pulled sleighs down Main Street and then out onto the open prairie for a half mile or so before looping around and coming back. Stiles lifted his cap to Boyd and Miss Hale, Scott and Allison, and some other couples he knew from around Beacon. It wasn't humiliating, as it had been the year before; none of them were showing him up, as Jackson tried to do (and so often succeeded). 

But when Derek Hale passed by in his new, shiny, boughten sleigh behind Caesar and the Duchess, Stiles could feel himself deflating. Hale was as handsome as Stiles had ever seen him in his wool coat and hat, and Stiles's heart did a little flip. But he was no doubt on his way to fetch Lydia from the hotel, so that was just the usual Lydia-related jealousy, like with Jackson. It didn't feel quite the same, but maybe that was because Hale wasn't nearly the terror that Jackson was, so Stiles couldn't hate or even resent him. 

Well, he told himself, one more year and he'd be around college girls who might allow themselves to be courted with walks around the campus. Then a set of sleigh bells came to a stop right next to him, and Stiles looked up, startled. 

There, in a bright blue cutter as small as Scott's, sat Erica Hale under a pile of furs. "Here you are!" she said. "Get in!"

He only wondered for a moment about the propriety of a girl driving a sleigh and asking a boy to ride along; he and Erica were friends, and she was the one with the horses. "Thank you!" Stiles said, and got in under the furs. A hot iron sat wrapped in blankets at their feet.

"You made this?" he asked as Erica started the horses again.

"No, no," she said. "It's Derek's old cutter. He built it when he was sixteen, and I think it's pretty nice, but you know Lydia."

Stiles nodded. It was doubtful Lydia would deign to ride in a six-year-old handmade cutter. "Nice of him to let you take it out."

"David and Jonathan need the exercise. But," she said, her eyes lighting up, "if you're willing to risk it I could bring the colts out next week."

Hale had sold two teams before moving to Beacon, and just last month bought a pair of colts that still needed to be broken to drive as a team. Stiles had never before known anyone working with horses, so the process was new to him, but he'd seen Erica with them and trusted her more than anyone. Except Hale himself, of course.

"Sounds fun," Stiles said, smiling.

"I think so!" Erica replied.

"But why wouldn't Hale take them out himself?"

"He doesn't think Lydia would much appreciate it," Erica answered, shaking her head.

"Her father probably wouldn't, at least," Stiles said.

Erica hummed. "Anyway, it's nice today, with David and Jonathan."

"Oh, David and Jonathan and I are old friends!" he said. "I'm always glad to see them."

Hale passed by them in the other direction, Lydia snuggled under the furs next to him. She wore the green hood that made her hair look brighter, and she was laughing. They made quite a striking couple, in that fancy sleigh pulled by the most elegant horses in town, like a Currier and Ives print. Stiles supposed it was inevitable; they just seemed to go together.

He turned back to Erica, who was also looking toward that sleigh but with an unreadable expression. Stiles suddenly felt a little guilty; here Erica had taken him out for a sleigh ride and they'd spoken of nothing but other people. So he looked at her, trying to think of something to say that had nothing to do with school, or Lydia, or Hale. 

He remembered a Saturday in the early fall when Hale had said Stiles might borrow David to check on his own tree claim. Erica was in the stables and decided to come along, saying David and Jonathan just rode better when they were together. She'd been wearing her usual clothing for working with the horses: some rough men's trousers, a blue work shirt, and a hat, though despite the garb she never looked like a man, what with her blonde hair only loosely pinned back from her face and flying out every which way. They'd raced for part of the four miles to the claim, Erica winning of course, and he'd never seen her laugh so much. For her part, she was surprised by the revolver he wore at his hip, but there were claim jumpers sometimes, and anyway his father had taught him not only how to use it but how to _not_ use it as well as how to keep the other fellow from getting his hands on it.

There weren't any jumpers, but they wandered around the tree claim for so long that the sun was nearly set when they returned to the Hale claim, and Miss Hale was furious that Erica had left their land with her work clothes on, only slightly relieved when Stiles said that they'd been quite alone and hadn't run into anyone else while they were gone. Hale had raised his eyebrows at that, and Stiles had blushed furiously. He still wasn't sure why.

Then, suddenly, he realized why he'd thought of that day. "Are you … are you wearing your _trousers_?" he asked.

She flushed, though that might just have been from the cold. "I'd already changed out of my Sunday dress and gone to see to the horses when Derek said I could take out the old cutter."

"Did he know you meant to come get me?" Stiles asked.

Erica nodded. "He was glad of it," she replied. 

Stiles didn't know what to think about that. 

"Anyway," Erica continued, "the only reason Laura approved is that she reckoned with the furs and my coat no one would see, so long as I stayed in the cutter. How could _you_ tell?"

"You sit differently than when you're wearing a dress."

Her eyes twinkled, and she leaned in closer, so Stiles leaned in, too. "No corset," she whispered.

"Well!" Stiles replied. "That certainly explains it."

"You aren't scandalized?" she asked. "You don't mind that I wore trousers and I'm driving the sleigh and I asked you to come along?"

He saw how comfortable and confident she seemed, like that day on the tree claim or the first time he saw her with her horses. "I don't mind at all," he said, and she smiled.

Stiles sat back in the little cutter, feeling satisfied about that big smile on Erica's face, and life, and everything.

A bit later he spotted Papa rounding the corner from Second Street, likely coming back from the McCall house. He was headed to the saloon to do his usual check in, and when he saw Stiles he raised his eyebrows.

Stiles waved, knowing Papa would be full of questions when he got home. So he decided to make them worth something. He took a deep breath.

"So, the Literary Society is starting up again next week," he said. "Spelling bee's always first."

"Derek mentioned. Seems fun, having an entertainment every Friday night. Laura's encouraging him to get involved."

"Really?" Stiles asked. "He just—I'm sure he'd have plenty to offer, but it doesn't seem like him."

"He _is_ shy with strangers, but he's better here in Beacon than he was in Kansas City."

"Smaller town," Stiles said, though he sensed that Erica was alluding to something more than that. "Since you'll be attending anyway, I wonder if I might walk you there, and home again?"

Erica smiled again then, not the exuberant grin he'd hoped for, but a shy little curve of the mouth. "I'd like that very much," she said.

"Good," he replied.

When the sun began to set the sleighing party broke up, Erica bringing Stiles home before going home herself. And it wasn't twenty minutes later—just long enough to bring Allison home and put up his horses—that Scott was coming into the Sheriff's house through the side door in the lean-to.

"Stiles!" he called out.

"How does Allison like the cutter?" Stiles asked him, hoping to distract Scott from any Erica-related questions. Or, worse, any Lydia-related ones.

"She seems very pleased!" Scott said. "She said she likes that it's so small."

"She likes having to press up against your strong body, you mean," Stiles said. "And since that's why you made it so small in the first place ..."

"It is not!" Scott protested. "And anyhow I noticed that cutter you were riding in wasn't any bigger. Did Erica like pressing up against _your_ manly body?"

"Calling my body manly makes me doubt your observational skills," Stiles replied. "And I wouldn't know, because she didn't say."

"But she did come for you, specifically," Scott said.

"She did," Stiles replied, and then decided well, Scott was his friend, so he might as well tell him what he wanted to know. "And I'm escorting her to the spelling bee on Friday."

Scott's mouth dropped open for a second, and then broke into a wide grin. "Stiles! That's ... that's really—"

"And now you're hugging me," Stiles said. "Does asking to escort a girl I already know across a street really require hugging? I used to ask Lydia all the time."

Scott pulled back, but kept a hand on Stiles's upper arm. "But you knew Lydia would say no. Everyone knew Lydia would say no. You didn't know what Erica would say."

"I reckon that's so," Stiles replied. 

"Lydia's going around with Hale, apparently," Scott said, with that little note of concern in his voice that he always had when he was talking to Stiles about Lydia.

"Lydia and I are friends now," Stiles said. "Friends who might go away to college together. It's good, that this all happened before we left. And they look so good together, who can deny them?"

"And that _sleigh_ ," Scott said, shaking his head. "I could never."

"Hale made that cutter Erica and I were in, when he was our age, just like you," Stiles said. "So maybe when you're his age, you'll be able to have a big fancy sleigh, too, to take Allison around in."

"Maybe I will," Scott said, rallying. "We can let him have that, and Lydia. We're doing all right, ourselves."

Stiles nodded his agreement. Erica was fun to be with, and he couldn't wait to ride behind the colts next weekend. It was normal to feel a little twinge of jealousy when he thought of Hale driving Lydia around in that beautiful sleigh behind that fine team, if even Scott felt that way. Though, he knew that Scott was just jealous of the sleigh and the team pulling it, not the people riding in it.

Later that night when he was in bed and letting his mind wander, Stiles was picturing himself in that handsome sleigh behind that handsome team, laughing and joking, but to his surprise his mind stubbornly insisted on putting Hale next to him, instead of Lydia. Well, perhaps he really was finally moving beyond his interest in Lydia. He tried picturing Erica instead.

It didn't work.


	10. (Erica)

"Laura, he just saw me a few hours ago!" 

"All the more reason to put your hair in a different style, don't you think?" Laura replied, smiling at Erica in the mirror. "I'm sure the other girls have changed and redone their hair as well. I have, and Vernon is right in the next room!"

Changing her hairstyle for the Spelling Bee on Friday evening when she'd just spent the day at school with Stiles was just the kind of female thing that Erica usually felt uncomfortable participating in, not only because it seemed silly and unnecessary but also because she wasn't very good at it. But Laura wanted to help and besides, she was right. Lydia Martin did her hair differently every single day, and that was just for school; certainly it would be in some elaborate style this evening. And yes, Erica had noticed, because Lydia Martin had beautiful hair; everyone knew that. Lydia certainly knew that. Erica's hair was all right, though she wished it was that golden color she'd seen on ladies in the saloons. Hers was just … yellow.

Laura was undoing the two long coiled plaits that Erica kept her hair in when she put it up for school, until it hung down her back in six long thick wavy ropes. Then, with a mouthful of pins, she looped each rope of hair around itself, linking it with the others, until all the hair was pinned back on top of Erica's head in an intricate, almost woven design. 

"There," Laura said, smiling again. "Now, stand up so I can tighten up those corset strings, and we'll put on your blue poplin."

Erica didn't protest, even though the corset was still painful to wear again after a summer of men's clothing. The corset made her dresses look better, made her stand up straighter, made her like the other girls. She was getting used to the way men's eyes moved across her body, and found that she didn't mind, after all. She'd thought she would, seeing how they looked at the girls in the saloon, almost menacingly. But now that she was in a farm town she could see why Laura had been so displeased with Uncle Peter letting her and Boyd take that saloon job. Erica's summer spent playing poker among the gamblers and roughs had given her a cock-eyed view of courting, because what Derek was doing with Lydia, what Boyd was doing with Laura, was nothing like the way those men had stared hungrily, menacingly at the saloon girls.

Boyd and Derek were full of compliments for both Erica and Laura, which Erica thought was just awfully sweet, and then there was a knock on the door. 

Derek opened it, and there was Stiles, a lantern in his hand. "Hello!" he said. "I'm here for—"

"Erica, yes," Derek said, nodding. "Come in out of the cold."

"Thank you," Stiles said, taking off his cap. "Erica, you—you changed your hair. It looks nice."

Erica smiled. "Thank you, Stiles," she said. 

"Oh, and you too, Miss Hale," he said. "Gee, did all the ladies change their hair?"

"In my experience," Boyd said, "they take every opportunity to do so."

Derek was taking their coats down from where they hung just behind the stove to keep warm. 

"Here," Stiles said, "I'll take Erica's." 

Derek raised his eyebrows, and handed Stiles Erica's long brown coat. She was already tying on her deep blue hood, and then he helped her into her coat.

"I'll walk out with you," Derek said, and for a moment she wondered if he was going to walk with them to the schoolhouse, and realized she didn't want him to. But he only went with them as far as the stoop before nodding to them and heading off in the direction of the Martin Hotel.

The schoolhouse was only a few minutes' walk down the packed snow of Main Street. Erica could see lanterns appearing all up and down the street as the townsfolk congregated at the schoolhouse, which was ablaze with light.

"To be clear," Stiles said, "I'm a terrible speller. In English anyway. Polish is easier."

"But you're near the top of our class," Erica said. 

Stiles shrugged. "We don't have marks in spelling anymore. History and literature, I'm much better."

"Your essays?"

"The dictionary is a good friend," Stiles said. "And I can spell the words I use. It's when I'm asked to spell other words that the whole thing falls apart. What about you?"

"Laura's my sister," she replied, feeling that was explanation enough.

"We'll need you," he said. "Lydia has won the bee the last two years and since Miss Hale will be giving the words it's up to the rest of you to challenge her."

Erica was glad for the corset; it stiffened her spine. "I like a challenge," she said. "And I like winning."

"I've played baseball with you enough to know that!" Stiles said. "Well maybe I'll put my finger on the scale. Give Finstock a tip on who he should be picking for his side."

"Who is the other leader?" Erica asked. 

"Argent," Stiles said, "and he always picks Lydia."

Erica nodded—of course he did; his daughter was her best friend.

"Anyway, we're here," Stiles said, hand out to help her up the steps of the schoolhouse. And once inside he did as he said he would, bringing her over to Mr. Finstock and insisting that he choose her when the time came. When Derek and Boyd arrived they sat down, Stiles with them while Lydia had gone to sit with her own parents and Allison once Derek had escorted her into the room.

The Sheriff, Laura, Mr. Argent and Mr. Finstock stood on the platform at the front, and after a bit the Sheriff waved his arms and the room quieted down.

"Welcome to the first Literary," he said, "and thank you for coming. As is our custom we'll begin with a spelling bee, and as is also our custom I will be abstaining from the bee as I might launch into Polish spelling at any minute." Some laughed and the sheriff added, "After all, I am not asking you to spell—" and then he said a strange-sounding word that Erica didn't think was English.

Stiles, who was sitting next to her, stood up and repeated the word. "P-r-o, pro, m-y-c-z, mitch, pro-mitch, k-u, coo, pro-mitch-coo."

The sheriff nodded, smiling, and the others applauded. 

"I'll accept your applause only because it might be the only word I spell correctly all night," Stiles said, sitting down as everyone laughed.

The teams were chosen after that, mostly adults first though of course Lydia was chosen by Mr. Argent early on. Derek, and then Erica, were both on Mr. Finstock's side, as was Boyd. Scott, Stiles and Allison joined Lydia on the other side. Even the smallest schoolchildren were eventually chosen—Erica smiled to see young Charley a bit down the line from her—and the two lines snaked around the rows of desks in the schoolroom. Then Laura opened the speller at the beginning, the primer words for the littlest children, and they began.

Most everyone could spell the first word given to them, but they got harder quickly with such a large group, and at the second word children and adults alike began sitting down. Stiles, true to his word, was caught on "thief" and sat down among the children. The rounds began to go faster as the numbers declined, but Erica knew words well into the back of the book and felt relaxed and easy.

Relaxed, that was, unless Lydia was spelling. Of course Erica had seen plenty of evidence of Lydia's intelligence during the school day, seen her answer every question asked to her, listened to her read her essays aloud. Laura was using a new teaching method with the college class, one she said they would see more in college. Instead of just memorization and answering questions, they pulled chairs around her desk during the first recess and discussed the books they'd all read over the summer. It was certainly different, being able to talk without answering a question. Naturally Lydia and Stiles took to it immediately.

But whether due to the performative aspect or the confidence of past victories, now Lydia was like a woman lit up from within. Her hair shone orange-red in the lamplight and there was a spark in her eye. Lydia looked tiny standing next to all the adults, but what she lacked in stature she made up for in presence. When she put the toes of her button shoes in a crack in the floor and spelled every word put to her, Lydia was as big as any of the men—perhaps even larger. 

"Sensualize," said Lydia. "S-e-n, sen; s-u, shoo, senshoo; a-l, ul, senshooul; i-z-e, eyes, sensualize."

Erica was beginning to understand why first Stiles and then Derek were so fascinated by Lydia. Not that she hadn't found Lydia pretty and interesting before, but this was something beyond that. Maybe it was because for once, Erica was competing with Lydia directly, and holding her own. It was on her fourth word that Erica got Lydia's attention, saw her eyes widen slightly as she realized that Erica might be able to beat her.

"Chivalry," said Erica. "C-h-i, shi; v-a-l, vol, shivol; r-y, chivalry."

She was glad she'd changed her hair and her dress, because every time she was given a word she could feel Lydia's eyes upon her, moreso than anyone else. Even more than Stiles, who'd been loudly cheering her own since he sat down. And while she could sense Derek's presence alongside her, the person Erica was looking at was Lydia. 

"Assignation," said Lydia. "A-s, as; s-i-g, sig, assig; n-a, nay, assignay; t-i-o-n, shun, assignation."

After eight rounds the two teams were down to only a few members—Derek, Erica, and a farmer named Greenberg against Mr. Argent and Lydia. The words came thick and fast now, Erica having almost no time to rest between turns. 

"Halcyon," said Erica. "H-a-l, hal; c-y, see, halsee; o-n, on, halcyon."

Greenberg and Mr. Argent went down on the same word, _portmanteau_ , that Derek thankfully spelled correctly because Erica didn't think she could have. More than once she looked to Stiles in the audience and Derek next to her; it helped to clear her mind and remember her words. 

"Sacrilegious," said Lydia. "S-a-c, sac; r-i, ri, sacri; l-e, le, sacrile; g-i-o-u-s, sacrilegious."

When Derek went down he gave her arm a squeeze and sat next to Stiles, who with Boyd had become Erica's own little rooting section. Which she needed, as the next word that Laura said, obeisance, she was sure she'd never heard. 

"Obeisance," Erica repeated, and thought of its parts. "O; b-e-y, obey; s-a-n-c-e, obeisance."

Laura shook her head.

Lydia was thinking, too, and she took a deep breath. "Obeisance. O; b-e-i, obey; s-a-n-c-e, obeisance."

The townspeople applauded as Erica walked over to shake Lydia's hand, wanting to be the first to congratulate her. Lydia looked up at her, assessing, and it was so different than that first day at school.

"You have ... unexpected talents," Lydia said. 

She couldn't begin to tell what Lydia meant by that, but felt that now was not the time to back down. "Or you haven't been paying attention," Erica replied.

It didn't matter as they were both rushed by well-wishers after that, townspeople whom Erica had not yet met coming to shake her hand, saying that no one had ever pushed Lydia as far as she and Derek had. Derek was deflecting the attention to Erica, and both of them declared that if Laura had been spelling instead of giving words she would have had them all beat. Throughout, Stiles hovered nearby, smiling. Of course Lydia was surrounded by her own adoring throng, as well she should have been, and she smiled and inclined her head, accepting their praise like any gracious lady. Like a queen, really—like what Erica had read about Victoria when she was a young queen, tiny and formidable. As the crowds around them thinned their eyes met and the look Lydia gave her was thoughtful.

Maybe being a good speller changed people's mind about a person. 

Stiles appeared at her elbow, her coat and hood in his hand. "Boyd and Miss Hale just headed back," he said. "Didn't want to walk you back to an empty house, but we don't have to leave now."

"Oh, let's do," she said, having had her fill of talking to strangers. She took her hood and tied it under her chin. 

After Stiles helped her with her coat, they nodded to Derek and Lydia, who were across the room, talking, and then walked out into the cold, guided by Stiles's lantern. 

"That was well done tonight," Stiles said. 

"Oh! Thank you," she replied. "Though Lydia was better than any of us. She won, after all."

"True, but she's always like that. You and Derek—it was good for her to have a challenge."

"Stiles, you challenge her every day at school."

"Maybe," Stiles said. "In some things."

"In history certainly. I'm glad Laura chose you to recite history in the School Exhibition."

"You'll cheer me on, won't you?" Stiles asked. "Usually I just have Papa and Scott."

"Of course!" she said. "May I ask, that word your father set you to spell?"

" _Promyczku?_ " Stiles asked, rolling the "r."

"Yes," Erica replied, not daring to repeat the word. "What does it mean?"

"Oh," Stiles said, and smiled, though his eyes suddenly looked a little sad. "It means sunbeam. It was—what's the word for the names sweethearts have for each other?"

"Pet name?" Erica offered.

"Yes, it was Papa's pet name for Mama," Stiles explained. "Unlike me or Papa, she was a very good speller in English _and_ Polish. I think it's his way of having her there."

Boldly, Erica reached out for Stiles's hand and squeezed it. He squeezed back.

"Well, here we are," he said as they reached her door.

"Sunday afternoon?" Erica asked. "I'll have the colts, so be ready."

"I will be," he said. "Oh and I meant to say, this dress, your hair and all, it's very pretty, but ... I like the trousers, too."

Erica smiled, relieved somehow that Stiles wasn't just putting up with them. "Good, because I'll need to wear them with the colts. Can't have my corset restricting my movements."

Stiles glanced up behind her, and Erica turned to see that Derek was returning from walking Lydia home, though he was still some distance away. "Of course not," he said. "I will see you on Sunday, then. Good night."

"Good night," Erica said, and watched him as he first walked, then ran and slid down the snowy street. 

"Just going to stand here?" Derek asked, and opened the door.

Laura and Boyd were in the front room, talking. "You look like you had a nice time," she said. "Aren't you glad we changed your hair?"

"Yes," Erica said, though it wasn't because Stiles had admired it, but because she felt that she could stand up in front of the entire town and hold her own against Lydia Martin. Lydia Martin wouldn't approve of her trousers the way Stiles did, and that's why Stiles was the one she was going to pick up in the cutter on Sunday.

Not that she'd bring Lydia Martin around in a cutter, of course.


	11. (Lydia)

"She is going to kill Stiles with those colts," Lydia said. 

Derek—for how could he still be Mr. Hale when he was taking her on sleigh rides and beauing her home from Literaries—looked up from his own horses to where Erica and Stiles were headed out to the open prairie behind the galloping young colts. "They're not running away," he said. "They're just running. See?"

At that moment they team turned, pulling the small cutter back toward the town. 

"We spent all yesterday and half the morning tiring them out," he went on. "Erica can handle them just fine."

Lydia hummed. "If you say it, it must be so."

"I do," he said, "but I'm sure Stilinksi would appreciate your concern for his safety."

"I'm not heartless," she protested, though she saw his eyes twinkling. "Anyway, don't you think it's unusual, a young lady driving a fellow around?"

Derek shrugged. "Wouldn't let Stilinski drive 'em, at least not now. David and Jonathan, sure, but not the colts. And Erica's an unusual young lady. Always has been."

Lydia nodded. She'd noticed that when Erica went driving with Stiles she didn't seem to be wearing a corset, and wondered in what other ways Erica was unusual. But she said none of this to Derek; he mightn't have noticed and she didn't want Erica to get into trouble. "And why haven't you asked me to ride behind those colts of yours?" she asked. 

"We…ell," he said, "I didn't reckon your Pa would be too keen on the idea. And we'd have to trade this sleigh for the cutter; big thing like this might spook them. With the cutter they barely know they're pulling anything. Didn't think you'd much care to ride behind a pair of scarcely broken colts in a cutter I made six years back."

"Not when there's Caesar and the Duchess and this lovely sleigh, no," she admitted. "But a lady appreciates being asked."

Derek inclined his head. "I'll remember that, in future," he said. 

Despite her own wishes, the pleasantness of this Sunday afternoon sleigh ride and how much she'd looked forward to it in the last week, her mind drifted to the letter she'd recently received from Jackson. As usual, it was filled with his adventures with his boarding school roommate, some Hawaiian prince. And as usual, it had reminded her of how hard she'd worked to keep his attention. 

Before she could stop herself she said, "Actually, I wasn't certain you'd be by today, what with the spelling bee and all."

"What do you mean?" he asked. "Why wouldn't I want to take the young lady that spelled down the whole town out for a sleigh ride?"

"Some fellows don't much like it when a young lady is better at some things than he might be," she said. 

"Then those fellows are foolish, short-sighted, and don't know what they're about. Probably too young to know."

"Probably," Lydia agreed, feeling tremendously pleased.

"You're an unusual young lady, yourself," Derek said. "Wouldn't ask you, otherwise." 

"Well!" she said. "I'll remember that, in future."

"Do," he said. "Speaking of the Literaries, I hear tell there's to be a dance in a month's time," Derek said.

"I've heard the same," Lydia replied.

"Well, if it'd please you to save me a dance or two, that'd suit me just fine," he said.

Lydia didn't think she'd ever had an invitation given quite as awkwardly as this; even Stiles's attempts were done with more finesse. But she couldn't deny Derek's sincerity. "I'd be happy to," she said, smiling, and he gave her one of his tiny, rare smiles in return.

Then he cleared his throat, a sure sign of the subject being changed. "Laura has you reading Dickens?"

She nodded. " _Great Expectations_."

"Pip was easily led," Derek said, making a face.

Lydia laughed, and decided to push Jackson out of her mind once and for all. He couldn't compare to Derek, who worked with horses but still wanted to talk about books, and apparently didn't mind if a young lady out-spelled him in front of the entire town. 

Maybe she'd save him more than just a dance or two.

* * *

During the weeks after the spelling bee, the Literary Society put on two musicales, charades, and an evening of poetry. Miss Hale's classes were more challenging so Lydia found herself studying harder than ever before. On Sundays there was church and Sunday School and the sleigh ride parties. She was glad that she didn't have to make the trip out to the claim, or tend the garden; she wouldn't have had time.

And on Saturday afternoons, Allison came over and the two of them sat in the big sunny ladies' parlor of the hotel and remade their dresses for the upcoming dance. Lydia had her old Sunday best green dress which had begun to fray at the buttons and hem, which she was pulling apart and putting new copper buttons on. She was using her old summer dress of sprigged yellow lawn as the underskirt, and covering all the worn fabric edges with ruffled trim. Allison was doing much the same, sewing brown and red plaid panels and trim onto her deep blue dress, including a large border all around the bottom to hide that she'd grown too tall for the blue dress as it was. The latest Godey's Lady's Book lay open on the table between them, mostly so they could study the latest fashion in hairstyles.

"Miss Hale was in the store this morning," Allison said.

"Was she?" Lydia said, and girded herself for some teasing from Allison regarding Derek. Good-natured, to be sure, but still. Teasing.

"Yes, along with her sister. Apparently their entire household is planning to attend the dance."

"I'm sure Miss Hale deserves some recreation," Lydia said.

"Don't be coy, Lydia," Allison said. "Scott already asked me to save as many dances for him as possible."

"Which means all of them," Lydia said, smiling.

"Well, one for Pa," she said, "and ordinarily I'd save a dance or two for Stiles, but apparently he and Erica have an understanding."

"Do they now?" Lydia said. "How ... traditional of them."

Allison snickered. "Lydia!"

"You must admit that their sleighing arrangement is out of the ordinary. I understand that Der—Mr. Hale only trusts Erica behind those colts, and that Stiles doesn't own a sleigh, but still."

Allison cocked her head. "You discussed this with Mr. Hale?" she asked.

"I merely expressed concern for Stiles's safety," Lydia said. "He may be quite annoying but that doesn't mean I want to see him break his neck."

"Of course not."

"After all, who would challenge me in my studies?" 

"Who, indeed?" Allison said, but her eyes were twinkling merrily, which Lydia did not appreciate. "I think I'll save a dance for Stiles anyhow, as he's such a _good_ dancer."

"Inexplicable, but true," Lydia said. "I look forward to his asking me."

"If he has the chance," Allison said. "The sheriff very kindly invited us for coffee and pie last Sunday, after our sleigh rides, and I really think that Erica and Stiles suit each other quite well. They just go together, don't you think?"

"I hadn't noticed that, particularly," Lydia said. "I suppose they do talk to each other during recess at school."

"Oh Lydia, you aren't jealous, are you?"

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," Lydia replied, though in her mind she was rapidly cycling over all the times that Erica had caught her eye over the past months, whether anyone might have thought she was looking a little too long, whether—horrors!—the entire town had thought that her regard for Erica during the spelling bee was as anything other than a respectable competitor. Well, Allison knew of her … occasional predilections, so she'd be sure to tell her, being a friend.

But then Allison said, "I know you're quite used to having all of Stiles's attention for yourself, but isn't it better for him to move on to another girl who happily accepts his affection?"

"Of course," Lydia said, relaxing. "Better for everyone. And Erica's family approve of the match, if Mr. Hale's reaction is anything to go by. Good luck to them."

"Perhaps Stiles will go to college a married man, with a bride alongside him. I hear that many college men are already married, and after all, he'll be eighteen in April and Erica soon after that I believe."

And this was another surprise; Lydia hadn't realized how much she considered college to be an adventure for her and Stiles and hopefully Allison, particularly after Jackson's departure. For him to have Erica as his bride—she couldn't quite picture it. "Then you'll _have_ to come as well, to keep me company," she replied, smiling.

"We'll see," Allison said. "I did gain permission to go with you and Stiles to San Francisco to take the entrance exams in the spring."

"Good. I would not have accepted any other outcome," Lydia said, but she was smiling.

* * *

On the morning of the dance Allison came by the hotel before school to leave behind a satchel with her finery for that evening, and they rushed back as soon as school ended to begin their preparations. Lydia thought their dress alterations had come out rather well, all things considered, and they were rather successful at recreating the hairstyles they'd seen in Godey's Lady's Book. At the very least, Ma approved of their appearance, and that was rare.

As the Martins were heading over to the dance a bit later, once dinner service was completed, Mr. Argent came to walk the girls over to the schoolhouse. He called them lovely young ladies and Lydia giggled and said that he looked very handsome himself. No harm in a bit of flirting with a widower, even if that widower was your own friend's father.

It was remarkable how thoroughly the schoolhouse had been transformed in just the few short hours since they'd left it. It always looked different by lamplight for the Literaries than it did for their lessons during the day, but now fabric bunting hid the plain boards. Much of the furniture had been removed, with some chairs dotted around the edges for old-timers and wallflowers, and two desks on the dais at the front covered in crisp starched tablecloths and topped with a punchbowl and bites to eat. Lydia was glad they'd had a good dinner in the hotel and therefore she wouldn't have to be seen eating, which was always awkward.

The musicians were just starting up, early arrivers milling about and talking. Scott immediately came to Allison's side, and he and Mr. Argent exchanged their usual forced and somewhat cold greetings. Mr. Argent didn't entirely approve of Scott, thought Allison could do better than to marry a simple farmer, never mind the complication of their differing religious faiths. Lydia realized that this had never come up in what Derek said about Stiles beauing Erica, but then, his other sister was likely to marry a Negro before another year passed so she supposed these differences were of less importance to the Hales.

Once Mr. Argent left to speak to the other men, it was less than a minute before Derek came to Lydia's side. She knew that there was some sort of family history between the Argents and the Hales, that they'd started out in the same town back east, but they were cordial to each other if not warm. Scott always seemed to regard Derek warily, which Allison said was because he was so much older than Lydia, but Lydia didn't think six years was so much. Anyway, boys were so often immature; perhaps six years was just the right age difference.

The music started in earnest and the couples began to dance. Jackson had always made fun of the kinds of country music and dancing that went on, implied that in the city both were more refined, but Lydia didn't mind so much about that now. Derek was a careful but confident dancer, easily moving her about the floor, and Lydia was good at following a man's lead at least where dancing was concerned. Derek was quiet, which didn't surprise her; he didn't talk that much when they were on their sleigh rides, and now with the distraction of music and dancing there was no need to fill any silence. And anyhow they were comfortable enough with each other at this point to allow the conversation to lag; such a refreshing change from Stiles's incessant babbling. Derek's arms were strong, his hand firm against her waist, and looking around she was sure that they were the most handsome couple on the dance floor.

After the first song Derek said, "I wouldn't have expected Stilinski to be such a good dancer. He's so awkward, usually."

"He's actually quite good," Lydia said. She turned and found him across the room, with Erica laughing in his arms.

Erica's dress was deep garnet, with pale gold buttons that nearly matched the hair piled high on her head and held with a large black comb studded in ruby-colored crystals. Lydia had always thought there was something of the saloon girl about Erica when she dressed up, something maybe slightly vulgar and certainly a bit flashy. With the comb and the bright buttons and the dress color she certainly stood out from the relatively drab dresses of the farmers' wives and daughters that surrounded her. Lydia wondered how she'd missed seeing her, earlier.

After that, Lydia was always aware of where Erica was and who she was dancing with—mainly Stiles, to be sure, but also Scott, Mr. Boyd, and the Sheriff. There wasn't a single dance she sat out, and Lydia wondered if Stiles made sure of that. It would be like him.

Not that Derek was anything less than attentive. He danced with Miss Hale while Lydia took a turn about the floor with her father, but other than that did not leave her side. She was also certain that he was scowling to keep the other fellows away, though she never caught him doing so. It was ... nice, particularly as she had no interest in dancing with those other fellows in any case.

Near the end of the evening, though, Stiles and Erica approached them on the floor and it seemed only natural to switch partners so that Derek could dance with his younger sister. She realized, as Stiles led them across the floor, that she'd actually missed his usual asking her to dance several times over the course of the evening, even if she generally declined.

"So I couldn't help but notice that you've been looking my way all evening," Stiles said with a sly smile.

"I was merely surprised anew at how well you dance, considering how bad you are at walking," she replied.

"Sure I don't look better now that another young lady has shown interest?" he asked.

"This isn't a _novel_ , Stiles," she said with a sniff.

"All right," he said, though he didn't sound like he believed her—and considering the truth, which she couldn't even explain to herself, she found she didn't mind. "But—may I ask a question? A serious one?"

"You may, but I reserve the right to refuse to answer."

"I just—I hope you're taking this thing with Hale seriously."

Lydia blinked, as this certainly wasn't a topic she'd expected Stiles to raise. "Do I give you any indication of not doing so?" she asked.

He pursed his lips and sighed. "Hale is a very sincere, earnest fellow," he said, "and I know how you can be, Lydia. The little games you played with Whittemore, even with me—he deserved them and I allowed them. But Hale doesn't, and he won't."

She raised her eyes and saw the determined look on his face, the same one the Sheriff wore when he meant for something to happen. "I wouldn't," she said. "I won't."

"Good, that's—that's good," he replied, nodding.

"I'm sure he'd be glad to know he's made such a good friend in town," she continued, smiling.

"Lydia, please, do not tell him I said anything. I don't think he would appreciate it, actually."

"Very well, I won't," she said. "After all, I could be asking you the same question about his sister."

Stiles shook his head, smiling. "I would have Hale and Boyd after me if I did her any wrong, and I'm fairly certain that Scott wouldn't lift a hair to assist me," he said. "Not that I would do anything of the kind, of course, but it's a strong incentive. Besides, she likes _baseball_."

And how could Lydia reply to that except to laugh?

* * *

Derek walked her home, as usual, the lantern in his hand lighting their way. After having been in his arms for most of the evening, she was more aware of his physical presence; before he'd just been taller and dark and lightly scowling, but now she knew the touch of his hand on her waist or the small of her back. It wasn't as electrifying as she'd always thought it would be—as Allison described Scott's touch as being—but it was solid and comforting without being smothering, and she decided she wouldn't mind more of it.

"You're right that my Pa wouldn't approve of my riding behind the colts," she said, "but if you wanted to give them a rest, I wouldn't object to riding in the cutter one Sunday."

"It's an old sleigh," he said. "Color's faded. Runners aren't quite as smooth as the big sleigh, being handmade and all."

She shrugged. "It looks cozy."

"Then that can be arranged," he said, nodding. "I'm sure that Erica wouldn't mind taking out the big sleigh for a change."

"Good," she said, slowing as they approached the hotel. "I'm not as concerned with appearances as everyone thinks I am. Or at least, not in the _way_ everyone thinks I am. I'm just ... particular."

"I'll keep that in mind," Derek said, inclining his head.

"I had a very nice time tonight, Derek," she said, smiling. "Thank you so much."

"I'm so glad," Derek said, smiling slightly. "I did too, of course. I—well—good night," he said, awkwardly.

"Good night," she said, opening the door and going inside.

As she got ready for bed she remembered that the year before, when he'd walked her home, Jackson had tried to kiss her. She'd rebuffed him, of course—they weren't engaged! But she'd been secretly thrilled that he'd tried, not because she wanted to kiss him, but because _he_ wanted to kiss _her_.

Derek was a perfect gentleman, and of course hadn't even tried to kiss her. Yet, she wasn't sure if she'd wanted him to, or was glad he hadn't. She wasn't disappointed, exactly, but she couldn't help feeling that there was something missing.


	12. (Derek)

"So," Boyd said one morning over breakfast, grinning in the manner of a true friend, "what are you going to get Miss Martin as a Christmas gift?"

Derek looked around the table and realized that yes, he would be expected to get a present for a girl he'd been beauing for months now. His eyes settled on Erica. "Could you help?"

"You should be asking Allison Argent," she replied, but when he sighed at her she went on, "but I suppose I could accompany you to the drugstore, so long as you do me a favor in return." 

"Which would be?"

"Telling Stiles what I particularly liked?"

"All right," Derek said, trying to sound put upon but actually relieved that she'd wanted so little. Despite his presence as an almost constant temptation in Derek's life, a reminder of what he wanted but could not have, Stiles had proven to be quite useful, really. He'd neatly replaced Derek in Erica's dreams of marriage, which had been a great relief. And he was a good friend. Derek just had to be mindful not to ruin things.

He blinked, realizing the conversation at the breakfast table had gone on without him. "I'm sure all your students will be just fine," Boyd was saying, and Derek realized they were talking about the School Exhibition that Laura was putting on that very Friday.

"We won't let you down," Erica said, loyally. "And you," she continued, pointing at Derek, "have to promise to cheer for all of us equally."

"All of you?" he asked.

"Me, and Lydia, and Stiles, even though he's really your favorite."

"No one is my favorite," Derek said, willing himself to stay calm and _not blush_. "You're my sister."

Erica hummed, but she was still grinning, and Derek was about ready to sink under the table.

"Gotta admit, never thought I'd see the day you'd be going courting," Boyd said. "Thought you'd be more the dying a skinny old bachelor type."

"Derek got his heart broken when he was very young," Laura said. "Apparently he's finally recovered."

The odd thing was, what Laura said was both true and not true—Kate _had_ ruined him for any kind of romance, just not in the way Laura was implying. And he had recovered, but that wasn't Lydia's doing. But it was a good hedge to hide behind, if he could keep it up.

"That may be," he replied.

* * *

The School Exhibition was ... a challenge. Derek and Boyd found seats in the back, leaving the front for parents, and he was glad that his sisters were both involved so he had an excuse to be there that wasn't Lydia—or really, Stiles. McCall still eyed him strangely, even though six years wasn't really that much of a gap all things considered, and Derek could only imagine McCall's reaction if he knew who Derek was actually thinking of.

The younger children went first, in their classes, reciting pieces and spelling and doing sums, but of course it was the soon-to-graduate college preparatory class who were the centerpiece of the evening. They also recited poetry—mostly Tennyson and Longfellow of course—and did sums, but then Lydia graphed a math problem so complicated that Derek wasn't sure a single person in the room could grasp what she was doing. McCall talked at length about the taxonomy of various local fauna and their relationship to more familiar animals back east. Erica presented an essay about the independence of characters in Dickens. Allison Argent, with the help of a map and the portraits of presidents that lined the walls of the room, began a narration of the history of the United States, beginning with the explorers and ending with the Monroe Doctrine. And Derek showed no favorites—he applauded for all.

Then Stiles stood, taking the pointer from Allison, and began to take the audience through the period from John Quincy Adams forward, detailing the country's long, slow slide into the Civil War, Reconstruction, and ending with the election of Grover Cleveland two years before. Derek was grateful that Stiles was so engaging that every eye was on him, because it meant no one was looking at Derek. He couldn't have hid his admiration and deep affection for Stiles if he'd tried. A few times during his recitation Stiles made eye contact with Derek, who smiled and nodded at him, though Stiles needed no encouragement. In his own way he was as brilliant as Lydia, if more comprehensible. Stiles set down the pointer to a wave of applause, and as he was the closing presentation, the entire college preparatory class joined him on the dais for a final bow. 

Derek was glad it wouldn't look amiss at all to congratulate his sister first, as the entire School Exhibition had been orchestrated by her. And indeed it was a shining endorsement of her teaching; every pupil was given room to shine and the school shown to best effect.

"To be honest," Laura said, low enough that others couldn't hear, "I'm awfully glad it's _over_."

"We'll make sure that you enjoy your Christmas vacation," Derek said, "even if that means eating Erica's cooking."

"You should be real proud," Boyd said, his eyes shining, and Derek slipped away to leave them to it.

Lydia was surrounded by a crowd of admirers as usual, so Derek went to where Erica and Stiles stood with some of the other students.

"Did you enjoy yourself, Mr. Hale?" Miss Argent asked.

"I did," Derek replied. "It was good to see what my sister has been working so hard on come to fruition. I know she's very proud of all of you."

"Me especially?" Erica asked, grinning.

Derek rolled his eyes. "Yes, Erica, you especially."

Stiles's eyes widened. "I didn't rate?" he asked, but he was smiling, too.

"If you hadn't noticed before now," Derek said, "you'll soon realize that my younger sister is quite the troublemaker, and should not be encouraged."

"Oh, I'm well aware," Stiles said, smiling at her, and Derek had to work to keep his own smile from faltering. 

Derek cleared his throat. "Anyways, congratulations to all of you. Stilinski, I assume you'll be getting Erica home safely?"

"If I may," Stiles said.

"You may," Derek replied, and with a nod he went over to Lydia, who was still accepting plaudits from the other townsfolk. He stood by her as the others shook her hand, wished her luck in her college entrance exams in the spring, and it was a bit like being Prince Albert. He didn't really mind so much, actually; he liked not being the center of attention.

When they were finally alone—well, not really _alone_ , but walking down Main Street together—Derek said, "I'm real glad you're going to college. Your way with arithmetic, I've never seen the like of it."

"How interesting that you compliment me on my mind rather than on my new dress."

"It's very … pretty?" Derek said, and it was, a deep purple that set off Lydia's green eyes and copper curls. 

"You misunderstand me," Lydia said. "It's better."

"Oh," Derek replied. "All right then." 

They'd reached her door in silence, and she looked up at him, smiling. "Thank you again," she said. "Until Sunday?"

"Yes," he replied, doffing his hat to her and waiting for her to go inside before he left. And for the first time, he felt a bit guilty for what he was doing. Would any man who really wanted to marry Lydia feel the same as he did, or would his attraction be in the way? Well, if any man would, she'd find him at college, surely. And then she'd forget all about the horseman who'd beau'd her around town one winter.

* * *

New Year's Eve found Derek restless. He and Boyd had gone to the saloon briefly after supper, but there was nothing to be found there but expensive whiskey and women neither of them wanted, so they came home. The rest of the household was in bed; Laura had a special breakfast planned to usher in 1886. But the book he was reading wouldn't quiet his mind, so Derek put his boots and coat on and went out into the cold. 

It was quite late, nearing ten o'clock, and most of the town was dark, with a second-floor window lit up here and there along Main Street. Derek ducked into the saloon briefly, nodded to where the Sheriff sat watchful in the corner. A little ways down he realized that the light at the Stilinski place was on, and through the window he could see Stiles reading. So Derek dashed back to his house for some packages that needed delivering, and headed for the Sheriff's house. 

"Hale!" Stiles said when he answered the door. 

"I saw your light on," Derek said as Stiles ushered him in. "Wanted to bring you a few things."

"Here, let me have your coat," he said, smiling. "Sit by the stove, that chair there is warm. Papa will be out all night, I reckon; New Years can get a little wild. Men drink and start thinking about the year they had, turns some of 'em violent."

"And you're still up because?" Derek asked.

"If I don't have school the next day I often wait up for him," Stiles said. "Want to make sure he's all right. Would you like some tea? Just about to put the kettle on anyway. Or there's a bottle of whiskey in the cabinet."

"Not sure your father would look too kindly on me coming to his house and drinking with his young son."

"I'm seventeen, and I'm not gonna get drunk off one glass of whiskey. 'Sides, we should drink to the new year with something stronger than tea, I'm thinking."

"Well, if you're sure it's all right." Derek looked around the room, and then down at the table next to Stiles's chair. "Jane Austen?" he asked.

"It was at the lost and found at the depot. Romance story, but I dunno. I'd rather have a good romantic story than a poor adventure story, I think."

"Laura sent me _Pride and Prejudice_ to read when she was at college. I liked that."

"This one's called _Persuasion_ ," Stiles said, getting some glasses from the cabinet. "Long-lost lovers reunited, that sort of thing. Along the way the fellow ends up getting some other girl's family thinking he's going to marry her, though."

"Oh really?" Derek asked. "Why would they assume that?"

"Guess he paid her too much attention. You know, olden days, there were more rules about those sorts of things." 

"Good thing we didn't live then."

"Isn't it?" Stiles said, smiling. "We'll see this century out. I'll be thirty-three. Imagine! Wonder where I'll be then."

"In some big city, I expect, with one of those important jobs."

"I don't know about that. And you? Still raising horses?" 

"Only thing I've ever wanted to do."

"Well," Stiles said, handing Derek a glass full of whiskey, "here's to exercising our talents."

Derek clinked Stiles's glass, and took a sip. "This is damn good whiskey," he said. "You sure the Sheriff isn't going to mind?"

"Papa doesn't drink whiskey," Stiles said. "Makes him miss Mama too much."

That, Derek could understand.

"So, you said you had some things for me?" Stiles asked.

Derek reached into his jacket pocket. "If I'd thought about it, I would have realized that you wouldn't be at the church Christmas Tree," Derek said, putting two flat packages on the table.

"We went to the mission for a few days," Stiles said. "Took the train so we could go to Midnight Mass. If Papa wasn't worried about the New Year we would have stayed until Epiphany, probably."

"I'm sorry we didn't plan ahead as you did," Derek said. "How did you get your present to the tree?"

"Miss Argent. She's been bringing my presents to the tree for a few years now."

"For Miss Martin?" 

Stiles nodded. "Not this year, though," he said, a little sad, and Derek regretted bringing it up. 

"Well, Erica was very well pleased with her brush and mirror, I can tell you that," Derek said. 

And there, Stiles was smiling now. "Did she? Her hair—" He stopped, perhaps thought better of extolling Erica's physical virtues to her brother, and then said, "I'm glad she liked it."

"She got this for you," Derek replied, sliding one of the packages across the table.

"She didn't have to do that," Stiles said, surprised. "What I mean to say is, usually, well, you know."

Derek nodded. Young women _didn't_ generally give gifts to men until they were engaged. He hadn't received anything from Lydia, nor had he expected to. "But, well, Erica."

Stiles unwrapped the package; inside was a small, flat case holding a silver-plated fountain pen. "This is, wow," he said, picking up the pen.

"She thought it might bring you luck, for your entrance exams."

"I'll be sure to bring it with me," Stiles said, and carefully put it away. "Please thank her for me."

"Of course," Derek said. "This one is from me."

"Oh!" Stiles said, taking up the other box. "But I didn't—"

"Consider it a thank you for your work this summer," Derek said, waving his hand.

"Work that you paid me for."

Derek looked Stiles in the eye. "You know you did more than that," he said.

Something flashed in Stiles's eyes, an understanding of some kind, though Derek hoped that Stiles wasn't _too_ perceptive. "Maybe," he allowed. He opened the box to find a machine-knitted woolen scarf of bright red. His eyes widened, and he ran a finger along the soft fabric. Then without word he wrapped it around his neck. "How does it look?" he asked, his voice not much more than a whisper.

"It's real becoming," Derek said. It was actually everything that Derek had thought it might be when he saw it in the shop. Red was certainly Stiles's color, and Derek imagined him wearing it when the cold had colored his cheeks and nose red as well. He tried not to be distracted anew by the long, strong lines of Stiles's neck, how much he'd wanted to kiss it over the summer, still wanted to more than six months later.

Stiles was just sitting there, absently petting the long end of the scarf and staring at Derek, but he was strangely silent. Derek didn't know what to do with a silent Stiles; he wasn't good at filling the spaces in conversations.

He cleared his throat. "I hear San Francisco is warmer than here but damp, with the fog and all. Figured a scarf would come in handy when it's too warm for an overcoat. Can't have any illness impeding your studies, after all."

"No," Stiles said, and now he was smiling just a little, a dreaming sort of smile, and Derek couldn't take his eyes away. "Thank you."

"Of course," Derek said. He could feel himself drifting into dangerous waters, what with their being alone in the house and the late hour and the whiskey, but he couldn't think of what he could do to stop himself, other than remaining absolutely still and not rising from his chair unless it was to leave the house entirely. Which, that might be a good idea. "Well," he began.

"I hope you're staying to see in the new year," Stiles said. He looked up at the clock. "Only twenty minutes left. Seems silly for you to go now."

"I reckon."

"Only we seem to have run out of conversation."

"I've never known it to be a problem for you before," Derek said, smirking.

Stiles laughed then, and Derek yearned to touch him, but he kept his hands firmly on the table. "I could read aloud, from my book?" he said.

"I would like that," Derek said. "I'd like that very much."

"All right," Stiles said, taking the book into his hands. "But it's your job to watch the clock. I'll start at the beginning for you?"

"Please," Derek said.

Stiles nodded and began reading about the vain Sir Walter Eliot, who had little love for two of his daughters, and Derek was good and kept an eye on the ticking clock on the far wall.

When Derek cleared his throat, Stiles set the book down and held up his half-full glass. "Well, here's to the new year. I'd say may it be better than the old one, but I already think it's going to be."

"So do I," Derek said, clinking Stiles's glass, and they drank the rest of the liquor down, their eyes not leaving each other's. "Well, I should go."

Stiles stood up, nodding. "Papa should be back in a while," he said. "I'm not hearing much ruckus from the saloon." He fetched Derek's coat from where it was keeping warm on the peg behind the stove.

"Thank you," Derek said. "I reckon I'll sleep now."

Stiles shook his hand. "Any time, truly," he said. "If you see the light on, feel free to knock."

"I will," he said. 

"And thank you again for the scarf." Stiles smiled, a little bashful. "Almost don't want to take it off."

Derek tried and failed not to picture Stiles in his night shirt with the scarf around his neck. "I'm glad you like it. Merry Christmas."

"Happy New Year," Stiles replied.

The cold air felt welcome on Derek's overheated skin as he walked down Main Street to his own house. He had no clear idea what had just happened, but he knew that something had shifted between them, that possibly Stiles had seen Derek's feelings and had not run away from them, even if he didn't return them. It gave Derek a strange sort of hope, not for anything like romance, like Austen, but that possibly he would have a friend who would accept him and his ways.

It was something, anyway.


	13. (Stiles)

For over two months, Stiles thought about Derek's New Year visit, and despite priding himself on having the tools to be a very good detective someday, he couldn't quite put his finger on it. 

Actually, that wasn't true; he had figured out one thing. Derek Hale was an invert—or at least half invert, if such things existed. That night he'd looked at Stiles the way Scott looked at Allison, the way nearly all men looked at Lydia. Though, come to think of it, Derek _didn't_ look at Lydia that way; perhaps that was why he treated her better than Jackson had. Likely better than Stiles had himself, and that was something to think on. 

His friendship with Derek had deepened; heck, he was thinking of him by his given name nowadays. Derek came by the house most Saturday evenings after dinner, when the sheriff was off keeping a watchful eye on the saloon. Sometimes Scott was there, too; sometimes Derek brought Boyd along. But more often than not it was just the two of them, Derek sitting quietly while Stiles read from _Persuasion_. Tea, not whiskey, and Stiles only occasionally caught Derek with that look in his eye. 

The rest of their lives went on as before. Derek still beau'd Lydia to Literaries on Fridays and sleigh riding on Sundays; at this point he might have been invited to dinner at the Martin's though he never talked about Lydia to Stiles. 

Stiles never spoke of Erica, either; didn't tell Derek that he'd begun to seriously think of marriage. Stiles and Erica's queernesses fit together in some way, and he thought he could give her a good life. Besides, he worried about Erica not making a match and living with Derek as Lydia's sister-in-law and spinster aunt to their children, which didn't seem an appetizing fate. No, they didn't have that destined to love forever feeling that Scott and Allison, or Stiles's own Papa and Mama did. But not everyone found that and besides it never turned out well in books. They'd make good partners, was the thing.

What confused Stiles was his own reaction to Derek. He was flattered mostly, and in no way disgusted, which he supposed was the usual reaction and likely why Derek never did anything more than look. And why would Stiles be disgusted, when Derek was a handsome man with a strong athletic body, devotion to friends and family, and extraordinary skill with horses, who loved talking about books? Stiles wasn't sure what to call how he felt about Derek, so he just allowed it to take its course. 

And then there was an unexpected blizzard in March. 

Compared to the Snowy Winter any winter would be mild; this one had been about average. There had only been a few blizzards, though one came up on a Friday evening, stranding those who'd come to town for the Literary, who bunked down on floors. (One farmer joked that it was God's way to make sure they went to church, and indeed the storm finally let up just after Sunday services.) It was enough winter to feel like winter, but not so strong as to have caused much hardship. 

Stiles, Lydia and Allison were traveling to San Francisco at the beginning of April to take the University of California entrance exams, so most of March found Stiles hunkered down at home, studying. Sometimes the three of them met at the Martin hotel on Saturday afternoons to quiz each other with the study guides Miss Hale had prepared for them. On this particular day Derek and Scott, who'd struck up if not a friendship then at least an acquaintanceship through Stiles, had gone out together to check on their claims, it being a clear day with no threat of clouds. 

So when it very suddenly grew dark, and the wind began to howl, they looked up, surprised. Then they dropped their books and gathered at the window. 

"Allison," Stiles said, "when did they leave?"

She glanced at the mantle clock. "About an hour ago."

"Plenty of time to get to the Hale place," Lydia said. "They were headed there first."

Stiles nodded. He didn't say that if there were any two men who could get to shelter it was Scott and Derek, nor that if there were any two horses fast and sure enough to outrun a storm it was David and Jonathan. They all knew that. Instead he said, "Well, let's hope they stayed put."

* * *

During the Snowy Winter you could set your calendar by the weather. Blizzards lasted three days, separated by one clear day, two if you were lucky. When Papa and Mr. Argent went to find the possibly mythical Greenberg and his wheat, they'd only had about seven hours of daylight to work with. Then, Stiles and Scott and his mother had sat quietly praying for the storm to hold off.

Now he wandered through the days in a fog, praying for the storm to end but knowing they would likely not see relief until Monday. He hadn't realized how very much he looked forward to Derek's Saturday night visits until there wasn't one. He couldn't even bear to see _Persuasion_ sitting out on the table and hid it in the cabinet.

Miss Hale very kindly invited Stiles, Papa, and Mrs. McCall to Sunday dinner. It was an odd thing to sit in a room full of Protestants while Papa led them in prayer to St. Anthony, but the fellowship was welcome. Papa had sent a wire to the mission, so Stiles knew a special prayer was being said there, too, as well as candles lit in Scott's name.

Monday there was no school, of course, but Stiles couldn't concentrate enough to study. He just sat staring blankly out the window at the unending whiteness, waiting for it to die down. By the mid-afternoon he'd been so lulled by the wind and snow that when it stopped he couldn't quite believe it, had to rub his eyes and look again. Then he was up like a shot, grabbing cap and coat and his new scarf and rushing out, up and over the foot or so of snow piled at the door.

He ran down the street, just because he could. Not that he'd be able to run around the prairie on foot to find them, but still. He was just starting to feel a little foolish when Erica came running out of _her_ door, trousers under her long coat, and saw him.

"Come," she said. "We can take Caesar and the Duchess; they could find Derek anyplace."

He followed her into the stables and they quickly got the two horses saddled up. Miss Hale came out and gave them water and some jerky, and made them promise to head back at sunset, though Stiles had already taken a lantern.

Luckily the soft snow had been blown off the road heading north out of town, so the horses galloped along easily, knowing the way back to the Hale claim as well as either of the humans riding them. Erica and Stiles were silent, and if Stiles had thought before that they were well-suited, today it was as though they had but one mind. They'd be able to see the Hale place once they were up over that rise near the slough, and they were both leaning forward in the saddle, though the horses needed no urging.

And then, when they could see the little house in the distance, they also saw two figures riding toward them on handsome brown horses.

Caesar and the Duchess broke into a run then, and Stiles and Erica didn't have the heart to stop them. They'd missed David and Jonathan, clearly, and likely missed their master's touch, but now they were as determined for a reunion as any of them. David and Jonathan had picked up the pace, too, and it wasn't long before the four horses and riders met in the middle of the road.

Scott was, typically, grinning from ear to ear. "Worried about us?" he asked.

"Worried if you two were shut up together only one of you would survive, more like," Stiles said.

Scott nodded. "Hope you bet on me."

"'Course," Stiles replied. "Taught you how to fight dirty, didn't I?" 

Scott laughed but Erica scoffed. " _Honestly_ ," she said, rolling her eyes and climbing off her horse. She made a beeline for Derek who, having gotten the hint, was standing next to Jonathan, ready to pull her into his arms. 

No sense in standing on ceremony, Stiles decided, and he too walked over to Scott, giving what he hoped was a manly hug and not desperately clinging to someone who'd once been his only friend. The horses were busy with their own greetings, the Duchess seeming to inspect every inch of David and Jonathan as though they'd been her own colts. Or maybe Stiles was projecting. 

Derek looked at Stiles then, his arm still around Erica, and he quickly touched his own neck with his other hand. Stiles patted the bright red scarf around his neck, and Derek nodded. Then he smiled, that bright grin that Stiles had rarely seen, and Stiles felt the bottom drop out of—his stomach? His heart? All he knew was a strange gone-feeling in his midsection, an odd sensation of falling. Derek gave him one of those admiring looks, and Stiles found himself giving one right back.

Holy heck. He was in love with Derek Hale.

Of course all this happened in an instant, even if it seemed like a lifetime to Stiles. He wasn't even sure that Derek had caught what Stiles meant in that look, only his eyes had widened ever so slightly. Then Erica spoke, and Derek looked away.

"How did you manage?" she asked.

"We'd only just left for the McCall place when he saw the storm a ways off," Derek said. "So we hightailed it back to my house and hunkered down. Good thing we'd left a few supplies there just in case."

Scott shrugged. "Mostly we played checkers. Come to think, I probably should check up on the place—"

"Oh, no," Stiles said. "Your mama would skin me alive if I didn't bring you straight home and you know it."

"Probably should head back for town while there's still daylight," Derek agreed, and soon enough they were all riding back to Beacon.

Scott and Stiles left the Hales to their own reunions and Stiles was ready to walk Scott home when he said, "Let's see if she's at the hotel." 

Meaning Allison, of course, and she was there, in the sitting room with Lydia. As soon as she saw Scott she ran to him, propriety be damned.

Lydia rose to her feet as well, with her usual grace. "Mr. Hale?" she asked.

"Safe at home," Stiles said. "Seems they never did leave the Hale claim and weathered the storm out there."

She nodded. "Good, that's good. Quite a relief."

"Yep," Scott said, still holding tight to Allison. "You should have seen the look on Stiles and Erica's faces."

"Erica?" Lydia asked.

"They took Caesar and the Duchess and came out to find us," Scott said. "Thank goodness we weren't in trouble, but if we had been, well, they certainly wasted no time."

"Stiles and Erica?" Lydia asked. "Had you arranged this?"

Now Stiles was beginning to get irritated, because why shouldn't he and Erica look for Derek and Scott? "No," Stiles said. "We just had the same thought at the same time—that we needed to get out there as soon as the storm ended."

"You two make a good team," Scott said.

"You do suit awfully well," Allison agreed. 

"I like to think we do," Stiles said, smiling, because despite his recent revelation about Derek, his feelings about Erica hadn't changed at all. 

He glanced over at Lydia, who was giving him the strangest look. If she were someone else, he'd say she seemed jealous, but that couldn't be. First, someone as near-perfect as Lydia would never be jealous of another human being; second, what would she be jealous of? Not Erica's claim on Stiles, since Lydia had always been clear that she didn't want Stiles for her own. Not Derek's feelings for Stiles, because she couldn't possibly be aware of them, nor Stiles's feelings for Derek. And not Erica and Stiles as a couple, because they were odd and the entire town whispered about Erica taking Stiles driving behind the colts, while Derek and Lydia were the envy of all who observed them. But perhaps it wasn't jealousy at all, just her attempt to hide her feelings about Derek, maintain her demeanor as the rest of them had failed to do.

"Well, I should go home and see Mama," Scott said, "but I can walk you back to the store, Allison?"

"Please," Allison said, and they went to get her coat.

Stiles wasn't sure what to do now; he supposed he should head home as Lydia was quiet and didn't seem to want him there, but leaving abruptly felt awkward. He fidgeted with the cap in his hands.

Then she spoke. "Thank you. For going. Even if you weren't needed."

"Of course we would," Stiles said, nodding. He shifted his feet. "I'm sure Mr. Hale will be over to see you the moment Miss Hale agrees to let him out of her sight."

Lydia tossed her head. "That goes without saying," she said, and there, that was the Lydia he knew and loved. Or perhaps, had once loved, and now considered a friend. At least, she was back to herself, and Stiles felt better about leaving her. 

"Well, I should get on home," Stiles said. "Let Papa know. I'll see you tomorrow, at school?"

Lydia nodded, and Stiles left. Scott and Allison were already well on their way down the street to Argent's store. As Stiles crossed the street to his own house he heard his name shouted, turned, and there was Derek.

"Hope you're on your way to see Miss Martin," Stiles said, "or you'll have to pay a penance."

Derek said, "I am, but I wanted to thank you again. Mostly, for keeping Erica from going off alone and half-cocked. She has a tendency to do that."

"I've noticed," Stiles said, "but I'm not sure how much of a help I can be on that, considering how often I'm guilty of it. At least, according to Papa."

"Still, I'm glad she has someone like you looking out for her." 

"I'd like to," Stiles said, "as long as she lets me."

"She seems to give you less of a fight than the rest of us," Derek said. "So that's a point for you."

Stiles realized it was the first time they'd really talked about Erica, and he didn't know what to say, precisely. "I'll take it," was all he could manage.

"Anyways, thanks," Derek said, and shook Stiles's hand. As he did so, lay his other hand on Stiles's shoulder. 

And Stiles couldn't help himself—despite the fact that they'd just been talking about Erica and Lydia, he leaned into Derek's touch. Derek noticed; the grip on his shoulder loosened, became more of a caress. They started at each other, alone in the middle of the snowy sidewalk.

A team of horses drove by, seeming to snap Derek out of whatever reverie he'd been in. "Well, I'd better get along to the hotel," he said.

"Say," Stiles said, "be gentle with her. She's more vulnerable than she lets on and I think you frightened her."

Derek nodded, all sincerity and responsibility and upstanding masculinity. "I will," he said.

When Stiles got home Papa was there, cutting up potatoes and salt pork and cabbage. "Hey, that's my job," Stiles said.

Papa shrugged. "You had an adventure," he replied. "Thought I could have dinner for you."

"Thanks," Stiles said, helping himself to a cup of tea as the water was hot.

"You should invite that young lady of yours to dinner on Sunday," Papa said. 

"I will," Stiles said.

"Good," Papa said, nodding. "She has a good spirit."

"She does," Stiles said, sitting down at the nearby table.

"Better for you than Miss Martin, I think," he said.

"Likely." 

Stiles wondered what Papa would say about Derek, if Derek were a girl. Not that it mattered much; it couldn't come to anything, anyways.

* * *

Scott came by the next day after school to study, but he was unusually quiet. Stiles was, too; he was still getting comfortable with his feelings for Derek. Though oddly the idea that he could be a invert, too, didn't bother him. He knew the Bible said it was wrong, but then there were David and—

Oh. David and Jonathan. Stiles was an idiot.

Then suddenly Scott said, "Stiles, I need you to promise me something. Promise that you'll help Allison in San Francisco?"

"Help her with what?" Stiles asked. "I can't help her with her exams, you know that."

"No, no, that's not—I can't tell you, but she'll need your help with something, and you have to promise me that you will help her."

Stiles raised his eyebrows. "Have you two been scheming without me?" he asked. "Because you know how well that goes."

"Maybe, but it's not my secret to tell!" Scott said. "Well, some of it is, I guess, but not this part."

"Which part is?" Stiles asked, pushing back from the table and crossing his arms. 

Scott sighed, scowling. "I guess I might as well tell you. I hate keeping secrets from you. You know that, right?"

"I know you're not very good at it," Stiles said.

"Well, so the claim proves up in June. Our seven years are up, and the land will be ours. Well, Mama's."

"Yes. And?"

"And Mama and I have talked, and we're going to sell."

"Sell the farm?" Stiles asked. "But—but you've always wanted to be a farmer, as long as I've known you."

"I may have found something else."

"You're serious about this?"

"Yes," Scott said, nodding.

"Well, okay." Stiles put his slate down, and thought for a minute. "Don't sell."

"I can't leave the farm for Mama to run on her own with a bunch of hired hands."

"No, but you can rent the land, and the equipment," Stiles said. "Plenty of folks want to be able to work some land, get in the crop themselves. It'll give your mother a steady income and keep the land in your hands. Finstock always says that money is income but land is wealth."

"But what if a tenant gave her trouble?"

Stiles cocked his head. "You don't think she wouldn't be able to rely on my father?" he asked. 

"Well," Scott said, "I reckon that's true."

"You'd better believe that's true," Stiles said, taking offense on Papa's behalf.

"I'm sorry. I'm used to it being just the two of us, I suppose."

"It isn't. It hasn't been for a while. It isn't just me and Papa, either."

"No," Scott said, sighing. "It's not."

"And that is why you shouldn't scheme without me."

"I didn't mean to!" Scott insisted. "But Allison—I can't tell you that part. You'll find out in San Francisco."

"Does Lydia know?" he asked.

"She might. If not she'll find out when you do."

"Is it illegal? Because you know I don't do that anymore."

"No! Stiles, of course not!"

"Just making sure!" Stiles said, holding his palms out in surrender. 

"All right."

"Is that all? I mean, all the secrets. That you can tell me, aside from Allison's and the fact that you two are running away together at some point?"

Scott's eyebrows shot up. "What?"

"Why else would you leave Beacon, Scott? Leave your mother? You'd never do that, unless you had to go someplace with Allison. So we'll get everything settled with the land, in a way that won't get around town, and I suppose whatever Allison's doing in San Francisco is part of—oh my god, are we helping her to run away? Are you two going to _China_?"

"What? No! No, we're not leaving America."

"But you are leaving Beacon."

"Yes, and you really need to stop asking me questions now. After you get back from San Francisco, I promise I'll tell you everything that Allison doesn't."

"All right," Stiles said. "But you know I do this better when I'm prepared."

"She'll probably tell you on the train or something," Scott said. "And believe me, you're plenty prepared. You know how to get around a city and I know the sheriff is making you take your gun, so you'll be fine."

"She'll need my gun?" he asked. "You realize you're not very reassuring?"

" _Stiles_. Please."

He sighed. "I'll try to be ready for anything. All right?"

"All right," Scott said. "Coffee? I think we should have some coffee."

"Go ahead," Stiles said, because Scott was as comfortable in Stiles's house as he was in his own. As Scott ground the beans and put the grounds into the percolator, Stiles thought about keeping secrets, and realized he didn't want to, either. Even if it was, well.

Small steps.

"So Scott," Stiles began, "what do you think about inverts?"

"You mean, like Derek Hale?" Scott asked.

Stiles hated that he forgot how perceptive Scott was; it kept sneaking up on him. "How did you know?"

Scott turned around then, the percolator filled with water and heating on the stove. "I've seen the way he looks at you, when he thinks no one else is looking," he said. "But you don't seem to mind, so I didn't say anything."

"And you don't mind that I don't mind?" Stiles asked.

Scott shrugged. "Some folks think white people shouldn't marry Mexicans, or Negroes, or Indians. Or that Protestants shouldn't marry Catholics. If they're wrong about that, they can be wrong about other things, too, I reckon."

"Well," Stiles said. "You're a better man than I am. But you already knew that."

"I know that you think that," Scott said. "But what about the ladies? What about Erica and Lydia?"

"Nothing can come of it anyway," Stiles said. "Why should it matter?"

"Do you love Erica?"

"Yes," Stiles said. "She should be family, is the thing. I feel responsible for her. I want her to be able to do as she pleases, and if she's married, that will likely go easier on her."

"Well," Scott said, sounding dubious, "if you think you know what you're doing."

"Not a bit," Stiles said. "Do you?" 

Scott grinned. "Not a bit," he said, "but I'm doing it anyways."

"There you have it," Stiles said. "Well, that's all my secrets."

"Mine, too," Scott said, and turned off the percolator. 

Stiles fetched the cups. "Papa will be out over dinner, said I should ask your Mama," he said. "But I say we fry up some of those potatoes and put a little whiskey into these cups."

"Sounds fine to me," Scott said.

And Stiles realized that all the time he'd been planning to go to college, he'd assumed that Scott would be right there in Beacon when he returned. Now, their time together was limited, and much more precious for that. "You should know that wherever you are, you need help and I'll come."

"You came running out to find me after a blizzard," Scott said. "If I didn't already know, I do now. And you should, too."

"I do," Stiles said. "I do."


	14. (Erica)

Erica wasn't an expert at needlework, to be sure, but she could sew. She'd made all of her own trousers and some of her dresses, and she could manage simple embroidery when sufficiently motivated. Stitching tiny horses onto linens was not sufficient motivation. But making something appropriately feminine for Lydia to take to San Francisco? More than enough.

She looked through the scrap bag, remembering the deep green shirt Laura had made as Derek's new Sunday best, and found a bit of that soft cotton that could be cut down into a dainty square. She edged it with precise, tiny stitches of violet thread, and at each corner she embroidered a tiny horseshoe.

She meant it to be for luck, after all. Nothing sentimental.

Erica tucked the finished handkerchief into a school book and meant to give it to Lydia at school, but each day something interfered—or rather, she didn't quite dare to give it to her in front of the others. She particularly felt wary of Stiles, and she wasn't sure what to make of that, because usually Stiles made her feel braver than anyone, was the most accepting of her eccentricities. Certainly he wouldn't blink at her giving a good-luck present to a friend.

As she walked home the Friday after the blizzard she knew she had to find the courage soon. They were to leave, Stiles and Allison and Lydia, on the morning train a week from Saturday.

In the meantime, she had been asked to have supper at the Stilinskis' on Sunday, which was enough for a girl to worry about.

* * *

Erica decided to wear her Sunday-best dress, a dark brown poplin. Stiles had never seen her in it, as he didn't attend their church and she'd always changed into trousers before taking him sleigh-riding. She'd been to the sheriff's home before, but that was just coffee and pie after their sleigh party, for which she'd quickly thrown on a school dress. Allison, Scott and Scott's mother had all been there; really it had been more Mrs. McCall's gathering than Sheriff Stilinski's. But this time it would be just the three of them, and she was _terrified_.

"You're nervous as a cat," Boyd said, watching her fuss with her hair in the mirror. "I'd think you'd never had supper with your beau's father before."

She scowled at him. "Don't be funny," she said, because of course she hadn't, and he knew that. She'd never even had a beau!

"Boyd, don't tease," Laura said as she walked back into the room. "Scoot on out of here."

He gave her a little smile, but he obeyed, as he always did when Laura was involved.

Laura stood behind Erica, and put her hands on Erica's shoulders. "Erica, you're pretty as a picture, and if you mind your manners you'll be just fine."

"You think so?" Erica asked.

"Stiles likes you for yourself," Laura said, "and of course he wants the sheriff to like you, too. I'm sure he'll show you in your very best light."

Erica nodded; she could trust Stiles. "Maybe I should wear the scarlet," she said, frowning. "He did compliment me on that dress."

"That is a dress for a dance and this is a dress for a supper. Now stop fussing."

Luckily, there was a knock on the door then. Erica leapt up, but Laura firmly pushed her back down in the chair, shaking her head. Erica could hear Derek invite Stiles in, close the door, make some brief chit chat. Then Derek walked over to the bedroom door.

"Erica? Are you ready?"

She turned to Laura, who nodded and allowed her to stand, smoothed down her dress. 

Erica walked out of the bedroom she and Laura shared and into the front room. Stiles was still in his cap and coat and ever-present red scarf, Erica's coat in his arms. He turned to look at her and she had a sense, maybe, of what it was like to be Lydia.

"Wow. I haven't, um," Stiles began.

"You've made Stiles speechless," Derek said, his eyes twinkling. "Quite an accomplishment."

Laura and Boyd chucked, but Stiles didn't seem to appreciate the remark.

He pressed his lips together and took a breath. "You look very pretty, Erica."

"Thank you," she said. She tied on her hood, and let Stiles put her coat on.

"I'll walk her home," he said to Derek. "Don't worry; Papa won't let us go too late."

"She's in good hands," Derek said, nodding.

They walked quietly, Erica not wanting to show Stiles how nervous she was and Stiles seeming preoccupied with his own thoughts. But just before they reached his door, he stopped and took her hand.

"I'll be there, too," he said. "We're a team, right?" He smiled, and she smiled back, nodding, and could feel him relaxing as much as she did.

"Good," he said, and opened the door.

The Stilinski home was warm and inviting, if a bit sparse. She couldn't help but think what her mother or even Laura would do to "spruce it up" if given the chance—cheerier curtains here, perhaps a print there. It certainly smelled good, as the sheriff was taking a pan out of the oven when they walked inside.

"Don't worry, son," he said. "I haven't touched it, just took it out when you said."

Stiles hung Erica's coat just behind the stove. "Papa isn't the best cook," Stiles explained. "Mama wrote all of her recipes down when she got sick, showed me how to make them. She didn't want us eating like Americans after she was gone." Stiles paused. "Er, sorry."

Erica shrugged. "I look forward to whatever you've made, I'm sure," she said.

"Here, don't leave her standing around like that, Stiles," the sheriff said, and pulled out the chair closest to the fire. The table was already set, plates and flatware and a steaming pot of tea, even a little vase at the center with a ribbon wrapped around it that Erica suspected wasn't usually used as a centerpiece. 

"Oh, sorry, Erica." Stiles had thrown on an apron and was bustling around the stove, using a spoon to taste what was in the pan, then nodding.

"You're sure you don't need any help?" Erica asked.

"Not from the guest," the sheriff insisted, and so Erica sat down in the offered chair. "Tea?"

"Yes, please," she said.

"So I understand from my son that you're in the college class but not going to college?" he asked.

"Papa!" Stiles said. "She's going to raise horses with her brother. I told you that. You've seen her with those colts."

The sheriff waved an arm at Stiles as he sat down. "I meant, why are you still working hard in the college class then?"

"Scott is in the college class," Stiles said.

"Scott is wherever you and Allison are," the sheriff said.

"My Pa says it takes a smart man to raise a smart horse," Erica said. 

"See, there, that's a good answer," the sheriff replied, smiling at Erica.

Stiles, scowling, set the pan down on a trivet at the empty place at their table. "I made stuffed cabbage, anyway," Stiles said. 

"A real treat," the sheriff said.

"May I serve you?" Stiles asked Erica, and at her nod he took her plate and dished out what did, indeed, look like a cooked cabbage leaf wrapped around a lump of filling, with more cabbage underneath. Stiles served his father and then himself, and sat down. 

After the sheriff said grace Erica cut into the parcel and saw forcemeat and bits of rice inside. She took a small bite. "Oh, this is lovely," she said, trying not to sound surprised.

Stiles looked proud of himself, at least. "Thanks," he said.

"Ah," the sheriff said. "She likes Polish food, this is good. You can teach her the dishes, maybe."

"No, Papa. Erica doesn't cook."

"My mother and sister tried and failed to teach me," Erica said, "but we decided my talents lay elsewhere."

"With the horses," the sheriff said. 

"I hope so," she replied.

"I wouldn't let my son ride behind those colts of yours if I didn't think so," the sheriff replied.

"Thank you," Erica said, smiling a little. She caught Stiles's eye and he was smiling, too. Laura was right; she was fine.

"I understand you're quite talented with the playing cards as well," the sheriff said.

Erica coughed and reached for her tea, surprised by the question. 

Stiles's eyes widened. "Playing cards?" he asked.

She swallowed, and cleared her throat. Her hands dropped to her lap, where they could wring her napkin out of sight. "Well, as you know, Stiles, Boyd and I worked in the stables of a saloon over the summer, back in Kansas City."

"Yes," Stiles said, nodding.

"And when there wasn't much to do, sometimes we went inside, and the other girls taught me how to play."

"The saloon girls?" Stiles asked.

Erica nodded. "I wasn't going to sit with the men and they were awfully kind to me. They taught me how to do my hair and such."

"It's very becoming," the sheriff said. "But you didn't just play with the girls, I've heard."

She took in a deep breath. "No. After a while I got quite good and they thought I should get something out of it, so I started sitting in with some of the men. With Boyd nearby, of course."

"And while wearing men's clothing," the sheriff said.

"Erica always wears trousers when she's working with the horses," Stiles said. "I think it's very practical of her. Likely safer, as well."

The sheriff turned to Stiles, one eyebrow raised. "So you've seen her in these trousers?"

Stiles cleared his throat and sat up a bit straighter. "Yes, sir," he said. "Up at the Hale place."

"And?" 

He looked around the room, and then at Erica, who shrugged. "And in the sleigh, but I don't really _see_ her, Papa, what with her coat and the furs and all."

"I see," the sheriff replied.

"You can't expect her to handle the colts in a _corset_!" Stiles said, and then groaned when he heard how that sounded.

The sheriff grunted. "I reckon not," he said. "You're a practical girl then, Miss Hale?"

"I try to be," she replied.

"Right, so, the poker?" he asked.

"I was good at it, and sometimes I won," she said.

"Not sometimes," he replied. "You should know, there are men that have come through this town talking about a blonde girl in trousers back in Kansas City who fleeced them out of their money. I wouldn't go near the saloon without an escort, if I were you. Of course, you shouldn't be doing that anyway."

"No, sir," Erica said, feeling chastened. "At least, you should know that when my sister found out what my uncle had permitted, she was none too happy."

"I expect not," the sheriff replied. "Your uncle should have been paying better attention."

"Oh, he knew everything," Erica said. "He thought it was funny."

The sheriff grunted again, and shook his head, then turned to his son. "Don't you even _think_ about it."

"What?" Stiles said. "I would never!"

The sheriff said nothing.

"Because of this!" he said, waving his hand at Erica. "Because you always find out!"

"I do," the sheriff replied.

Stiles shook his head and sighed, looking remarkably like his father. "Papa was a Pinkerton," he explained. "One of the best detectives out of Chicago. That's why he has no accent."

"Worked hard, got rid of most of it," he said. 

"But after Mama died, well, we didn't stay in Chicago very long."

"Stiles," the sheriff said, looking at him seriously. "You should tell her, yes? Why we left the city?"

"What about it, Papa?" Stiles asked, smiling. "I was just—"

"Or I will," the sheriff said, and he sounded sad.

Stiles's mouth was set in a firm line. "Fine," he said, sullen. "We left Chicago because I was arrested for breaking into a house." 

Erica blinked, not knowing what to say to that. 

The sheriff broke the silence. "Starting from the beginning is usually how these stories are told, I think," he said. 

Stiles took a sip of tea, stalling, but at another glance from his father, he began his story. "There was a woman downstairs, looked after me after Mama died. She thought I read too much, thought that was why I was so scrawny. She wanted me to go out and play with the other boys more. That's how I learned to play baseball—stickball really, but I wasn't very good at it. Sometimes there were fights, and I wasn't very good at that, either."

"Told me he got the bruises because he couldn't catch the ball," the sheriff said. 

"It was so," Stiles said. "That was why, just, it wasn't always the ball that hit me."

A feeling came over Erica, almost like she felt when the foal was born. She could imagine Stiles, little and alone and trying to get by on his own, too stubborn and independent to say anything that might make his father worry. 

She wanted to get on the first train to Chicago and slug those boys. 

"Then this older boy, he saw how small I was and said he could keep the other fellas away from me if I did something for him. See, my shoulders were much narrower than they are now, which meant I could fit through a window."

"Specifically, the basement window of one of those fancy houses," the sheriff added. 

"It was easy," Stiles said. "We'd slip out at night and I'd shimmy in and then open the front door. Lots of times no one was even there. Summer time, rich folks aren't in the city." He made a face. "And they had so much! So much and they didn't even work, just owned things. So we took some of their things."

"My son the socialist burglar."

"Papa—"

"You really think those other boys were thinking about _redistribution of wealth_?"

Stiles was silent.

"A messenger came to the house one night, late," the sheriff said. "Courtesy of a friend at the Chicago police, Stiles wasn't charged with anything. Still, didn't think I'd ever have to come get my own son out of _jail_."

"I am sorry, Papa," Stiles said, looking down at the table. 

"I'd already been planning to leave the city for his sake, already taken this job, but thought I'd move us in the fall, tie up some loose ends with Pinkerton. Instead we packed up that week and left as quick as we could."

"I'm a thief," Stiles said, "and I can't even spell it correctly."

"You _were_ a thief," the sheriff corrected. "Not anymore. And I figure you two delinquents might be able to keep each other out of trouble."

"That's what all this was about?" Stiles asked. "You think we might suit because we've both done some disreputable things?" He paused, then said, "Well, illegal in my case."

"No. I think people who are courting should know these sorts of things about each other," the sheriff said.

Erica regarded the sheriff, and her eyes narrowed. "Would you have investigated me?" she asked.

"Didn't have to, as it happened," he replied, shrugging. "Or at least, not much."

Stiles put his head in his hands. "I am never introducing you to another young lady," he said.

"No, I don't think you will," the sheriff said, patting him on the shoulder as he stood. "There's still some of the vinegar pie Stiles made yesterday. Would you care for a slice, Erica?"

Erica looked from the sheriff, who was smiling, to Stiles, who looked like he'd appreciate the floor opening up beneath him, and all she could do was laugh.

The sheriff sat down again with the pie pan and some plates and forks. "I like this one," he said.

Stiles looked at her, confused, and then his shoulders relaxed and he smiled. "Me too," he said.

* * *

Erica didn't manage to give the handkerchief to Lydia over the next week. Stiles was even more attentive after the dinner with his father, not that Erica blamed him or really even minded in any way. It was actually quite nice, the way things were going with him, and she wondered if he would propose to her before he left for college or ask her to wait for him. She thought she'd likely say yes to either one. But she realized why she was reluctant to give the handkerchief to Lydia in front of him. It seemed disloyal, somehow, even though she'd already given Stiles the pen for Christmas.

Not that it was, of course. That wouldn't make any sense at all. That day after the storm, when she rushed outside and saw Stiles just down the street, both thinking so much alike that they scarcely had to talk, she could have melted with relief. She'd never felt so in concert with anyone, not even Derek. Besides, Stiles had the kind of face a woman could look at for the rest of her life—if his father was any indication, it might even improve. He was on his way to college, so he'd be a good provider, and seemed not just happy to let Erica continue with her horses but encouraged it. She would find no better match.

Especially since Stiles didn't make her feel nervous the way Lydia did. She wasn't anxious to please—far from it—but she did want to know what Lydia _thought_ of her actions. If Lydia was in the same room, Erica's eyes found her, and if she wasn't, Erica wondered what she was doing. The boys all wanted to curry Lydia's favor, but Erica wanted to get a _reaction_ from her, get cracks to form in that smoothly polished surface she presented to the world. Sometimes she even succeeded.

By Friday the situation was desperate; Lydia would be leaving the next morning. Erica let Stiles walk her home from school, gave him some final good wishes. But no sooner had she come inside, taken off her coat and hood, then she knew she needed to leave again. 

Luckily only Derek was home to see her fidget in her chair. "Restless?" he asked her.

"Yes," she replied. "Think I might take a walk, just down to the store if you need anything."

He looked up from his paper. "No, but I was thinking I might go to the depot tomorrow morning, see Lydia off, if you'd like to come along and say good-bye to Stiles."

She smiled. "I'd like that very much," she said. "Thank you."

But she still put her coat on; giving Lydia the handkerchief in front of Stiles, Allison, Derek, Lydia's parents, possibly Mr. Argent and Scott, was even worse than if she'd just done it at school. Trying not to think too much, she walked straight to the Martin Hotel and asked the clerk at the desk if Lydia was at home, and was shown into the ladies' parlor. Too nervous to sit down, she paced in front of the fireplace so she wouldn't just walk out of the room.

A few minutes later Lydia came into the room in a green calico work dress covered by a large blue apron, on which she was wiping her hands. "Oh, Erica," she said. "I wasn't expecting you—he just said a young lady so I thought you would be Allison."

"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm afraid I'm interrupting."

"Just starting in on dinner," Lydia said, then cocked her head. "Is something wrong?"

"No, I just—" Erica cleared her throat. "I suppose I never thought of you as having chores."

She laughed at this. "I milk the cows every morning," she said. 

Erica nodded, but still couldn't believe her eyes. It was all so domestic, so ordinary, and she realized that even she was guilty of putting Lydia on a bit of a pedestal. But then, that was probably as Lydia wanted it. "Anyways, I meant to give you something." She pulled the little packet out of her pocket and handed it to the other girl.

"My goodness," Lydia said.

"It's for luck, for your exams," Erica added.

Lydia opened the bit of muslin to reveal the neatly pressed and folded handkerchief inside. "How lovely," she said, examining it closely. "You made this for me?"

"Yes," Erica said. "Embroidery isn't my strong suit, but—"

"No, this is fine work," Lydia said, holding it up to the light. "It must have taken some time."

"Well, it is the winter," Erica said. "Long evenings."

"Such a pretty green."

"We had some, from one of—"

"Mr. Hale's shirts, yes, I recognize it now," she said, and smiled. "And the violet stitching ..."

"I remembered your dress, from the School Exhibition." Erica paused, then said, "You should wear more violet. It suits you."

Lydia smiled at her. "And you should wear more scarlet, as you did at the dance."

"Oh!" Erica said, then before she could think better of it added, "I didn't think you'd noticed."

"You think I was noticing Stiles?"

"Stiles is worth noticing!" Erica said.

"And believe me, he was," Lydia said, a mysterious smile on her lips. 

Lydia was hinting at something, Erica knew, but she was too muddled in that moment to work it through. "Well, I shan't keep you," she said.

"You have me at a disadvantage," Lydia said, as though Erica hadn't spoken. "Now that you've seen me in my work clothes, it's only fair that I come to your home sometime when you're in yours. Or whatever you wear when you're working with the colts that doesn't include a corset."

Erica didn't gasp—she _didn't_ —but her eyes widened. Though why she was surprised, she didn't know; if Stiles had worked it out of course Lydia had. "I wear men's trousers and a shirt," she confessed. "Skirts get in the way, I've found, and I've never much liked riding sidesaddle. Harder to break a horse riding that way."

Lydia didn't look shocked, as Erica might have expected from a girl who'd once sniffed at her playing baseball, but intrigued. "I look forward to seeing that," she said.

Erica was emboldened by those words, by the idea that Lydia looked at her, _had_ looked at her, enjoyed looking at her. "Then come by the claim some Saturday this spring," she said.

"I'll do that," Lydia said. Then she walked up to Erica, taking both of Erica's hands in her own. "Thank you for this present."

Lydia's hands were tiny in Erica's, but warm and strong, the skin toughened by work. Somehow that was reassuring, that they weren't so different. They were leaning into each other, as if being pulled together, as if the way they spoke to each other had been transferred to touch. Erica wanted more, and she realized that not only did she want to kiss Lydia, but Lydia wanted to be kissed by her. 

"It's not so much," Erica forced herself to say, as the proximity to Lydia made it a little hard to talk. She was so small, and her eyes were so green, and—

"But you _made_ it for me," Lydia replied, with more feeling than she usually allowed herself to show. Her thumbs were moving softly over the back of Erica's hands.

"Then, I'm glad you like it," Erica said, and her voice was a little shaky with all of it, with knowing that she was important to Lydia. She felt like they were the only two people in the world, and oh, she wished she could just lean forward a bit more, touch their foreheads together. She settled for smiling, and was rewarded with a smile in return.

How long they stood there, Erica could not say, but then there was a crash from the kitchen, and a shout. Lydia turned toward the noise, then back to Erica. 

"I'm sorry; I really should get back to my chores," said Lydia.

"Of course you should," Erica said, nodding. "Good luck on your exams."

"Thank you," Lydia said. "I'm so—thank you."

Lydia let her go then, and Erica felt the loss, busied herself by putting her coat back on. She didn't mention that she and Derek would be at the train the next day; then she'd be there for Stiles, Derek for Lydia. This time, now, belonged to the two of them, together.

Erica waved her good-bye and left. But she couldn't help looking back, and saw Lydia staring out the window after her.

She came home, helped Laura with dinner, even participated in the conversation, but she was only half aware of her surroundings, didn't even care if her family noticed. After, she went out to the stables to do her chores, but when she was done found that she didn't want to leave. She stood in the stall with the foal she'd helped raise, hoping that would ease the fluttering in her stomach.

"Are you all right?" Boyd asked, and she started, as she hadn't even heard him come into the stables. "I can take over—maybe you need some rest?"

"I've finished," she said. Then: "Boyd, what do you do when you want to kiss a girl?"

He looked surprised. "You mean, instead of kissing that girl?" he asked.

She nodded. 

"Well, sometimes I do some physical work, like breaking up a hay bale," he said. "Sometimes, well, sometimes I go to the outhouse and I—do girls touch themselves? I know that's rude but—"

"Yes," Erica said. "I do, anyway."

"All right, well, that," Boyd said. "And sometimes, I just want to be around her. It might be torture but it's the sweetest torture, you know?"

"Yes, I do," Erica said, smiling. 

"You've really got it bad, haven't you?"

"I suppose."

"Stiles is a lucky man."

Erica pictured Stiles, and Derek, and Derek and Lydia together, and she and Stiles, and Stiles's ever-present scarf that Derek had given him. And suddenly, all at once, she realized what Lydia had meant, by there being someone who'd noticed Stiles. She remembered the whispers about Derek among the ranch hands in Kansas City, wondered if when she'd thrown herself at him, she hadn't just been trying to save him. Maybe she'd also been trying to control herself, after a summer spent with saloon girls.

"Erica?" Boyd asked.

"Sorry," she said. "You're right, Stiles is a lucky man. I think we're all lucky, really."


	15. (Lydia)

Lydia woke early on Saturday morning, too nervous to sleep. She bathed (so odd to bathe on Saturday morning rather than Saturday evening), checked again that everything she needed was packed neatly in her satchel, that her money belt was secure underneath her dress with a few coins for the journey in the purse that hung from her wrist. Ma had made her a quick breakfast of eggs and potatoes, which she ate while Ma fixed up sandwiches for all three of them for the train. 

The exams, to be honest, were the least of her worries. She was very well prepared, thanks to Miss Hale and her fellow classmates, and knew that all three of them would easily pass and gain admission to college. But there were other items on the schedule for the weekend, most of which they'd have to inform Stiles of on the train, and despite Allison's assurance that Scott had prepared him, one never could predict how Stiles would react to anything.

Not to mention the situation that she, Erica, Derek and Stiles found themselves in. Lydia wasn't sure that Stiles understood the full extent of it, as Lydia did; she wasn't even sure that Erica did. But after the storm, and with the changes coming in the next year, she didn't want to leave the status quo. She wanted what she wanted, and she meant to get it.

* * *

She stepped outside with her parents to see Derek and Erica standing just outside their door. 

Derek tipped his hat. "We thought we might see you off," he said. "May I take your bag?"

"Thank you, Hale," Pa said, smiling in that conspiratorial way he had that made Lydia cringe. 

"Lydia?" Ma asked.

Lydia smiled. "Such a pleasant surprise!" she said, looking past Derek at Erica.

"Oh," Derek said, glancing over at his sister, "yes, well, when I told Erica I wanted to see you off she thought she might want to say her good-byes to Stilinski as well."

"Of course," Lydia said. "He'll be pleased to see you, I'm sure."

They said nothing more as they walked to the depot, shoes crunching on the hard-packed snow. The sheriff and Mr. Argent were already there with Allison and Stiles, and of course Scott had come along, too.

Stiles spotted them first. "Erica!" he said, and she trotted smartly to him. "Thanks, this is real nice."

"It was Derek's idea," she said.

He turned to Derek and nodded slightly. "Hale," he said, and then, as he'd done since Christmas, he stroked the free end of his red scarf.

"Stilinski," Derek replied, and pressed his lips together.

It was ridiculous, and Lydia felt a rush of overwhelming irritation. She huffed.

"Now, Stilnkski," Pa was saying, "I'm putting my daughter in your hands. I trust you'll be able to take care of both of these young ladies."

"Of course," Stiles said. 

"No reason to worry," the sheriff said. "Stiles knows what he's about."

Mr. Argent grunted, which earned him dirty looks from both Derek and the sheriff.

"I'm sure we'll be just fine," Lydia said. "We don't need that much protection, do we, Allison?"

"Not at all," Allison said. "We're modern ladies."

"Of course, of course," Pa said, though Lydia knew he didn't have the faintest idea what they meant. Which was good, because now was not the time for another frustrating conversation about The Vote.

The train pulled in then, thank goodness. Many good-byes were said and wishes of good luck given, hugs from parents and the hint of tears from Ma, before Stiles managed to get them all onto the train and thence to some rather comfortable second-class seats.

"Good-bye Beacon," Lydia said, waving to their friends as their train pulled away. 

"Until Wednesday, anyway," Allison said.

"I heard it might be longer for you, Allison," Stiles said.

Allison gave him a sharp look as she sat down in her seat, but she said nothing.

"You'd better tell me," Stiles said, "if you're counting on me to help you."

"Oh _honestly_ ," Lydia said, sitting down next to Allison so that Stiles would stop looming. She'd had about enough of all these secrets, and her irritation with the various surprises she'd been presented with already that morning bubbled over. "Allison has an appointment on Sunday with Buffalo Bill Cody."

" _Lydia_!"

"Well when _were_ you going to tell him? When we got to San Francisco? When we left for the arena on Sunday afternoon?"

"I was hoping not to tell him at all!" she said. "Surely he could have escorted us to the arena without having to know."

"This is _Stiles_ , Allison," Lydia replied. "Do you really think that was possible?"

"Not to mention if the Wild West Show is in town, there'll be posters all over, especially at the arena," Stiles said. "You really never have been to a big city, have you? How do you think they get folks to come to the show?"

"The same way folks find out about the Literaries?" Allison asked.

"There's nothing else to do in Beacon! Believe me, there are plenty of amusements in San Francisco." He shook his head. "So your plan is to join up with the show?"

"If they want me."

Stiles waved his hand. "With aim like yours? That's a given. What's the rest of the plan?"

"I won't join now," she replied. "I'll wait until the summer."

"And Scott?" 

"We're getting married."

"So he's coming with you. And doing what, exactly?"

"We inquired, and they said he could take a position taking care of the animals. You know, all the horses and cattle in the show?"

Stiles made a face. "See, this is why you need me. You never think about the details, either of you. Are you going to have that put in your contract?"

"Contract?" 

"You know, the one they'll want you to sign on Sunday?" 

Allison blinked, and turned to Lydia. "I told you to tell him," Lydia said. 

"This is why you shouldn't scheme without me!" Stiles said, throwing up his hands. "All right, start at the beginning, and I'm sure between the three of us we can work out a better plan."

Lydia sat back and folded her arms. Stiles always had been good at plans. Once they had Allison squared away, and had finished their exams, they could spend the train journey back to Beacon scheming about their own lives.

* * *

They stayed in a perfectly nice hotel not far from the college, and Lydia was impressed with the ease with which Stiles was able to get them and their bags from Union Station to the trolley and thence to the hotel. There was so much hustle and bustle around them, so many people, but Stiles seemed perfectly calm, even energized by all of it. And now that she was in the city, Lydia could understand—there was something new to look at every instant, around every corner, so much vying for one's attention. To be honest, she was a bit dizzy when they got to the hotel, but she knew that after a while she'd become every bit as accustomed to it as Stiles was. She looked forward to that.

The kitchen had kept a bit of supper back for them and they ate hungrily, then spent some time in the sitting room with the other guests, some of whom were students who also hadn't wanted to travel on the Sabbath. Well, that was the reason Allison and Lydia had given to their parents, anyway. 

Stiles was in a tiny single room down the hall. The girls shared a larger room, with two narrow beds and a nightstand in between, upon which sat a pitcher and basin. A chamber pot sat on a lower shelf, behind a small door. Two towels were draped over rods on either side of the nightstand, and a mirror hung above it. Lydia poured some of the water from the pitcher and quickly washed her face and hands in the basin, dismayed at how black the water turned. She wondered if there were any tips in Godey's Lady's Book for how a lady could keep her complexion fresh in an urban environment. Perhaps that new magazine Ladies' Home Journal would have something, it being so modern and all. She drained the dirty water into the chamber pot and wiped the basin clean.

"You have a new handkerchief?" Allison asked, spotting the green fabric atop the dresser.

Lydia wiped her face and hands with the towel. "Erica made it for me, for good luck."

"She made it?" 

"That's what I said. Why?"

"Only that you've told me, on numerous occasions, that the only people who've ever made things for you are your mother and your sister. And me, of course."

"I'm not sure I would characterize giving me the pelt of a rabbit you shot so I could make a muff out of it 'making me something'," Lydia replied.

"Nevertheless," Allison said, "she made you a handkerchief in the colors of your two prettiest dresses."

"Indeed she did."

Allison cocked her head. "Lydia, is there something you need to tell me?" she asked.

Lydia cursed herself for ever having said anything to Allison about Boston marriages and her brief pash for Miss Hale. "There honestly is not," she replied.

"Do you wish there were?"

"How could there be?" Lydia asked. She picked up the handkerchief, ran her fingertip over a small horseshoe.

"That wasn't what I asked," Allison replied, walking over to the stand to wash her own hands and face.

Lydia sat on the bed; perhaps this would be easier without Allison looking at her. "Erica came over to the hotel Friday after school, special, to give this to me," she said. "I think she wanted us to be alone when she did. She didn't even mention that she and Derek would be seeing us off the next morning; she said good-bye to me as though she wouldn't see me again before we left. When I did see her the next day, she spoke only of Stiles. She seems to think of me and of Stiles entirely separately, or at least, is trying to keep us separate. Do you see what I mean?"

"I'm not sure," Allison replied. She turned to look in her satchel. "I don't think of you and Scott entirely separately, at least."

"That is what I mean," Lydia said. "It's the way one might treat two suitors, particularly if one of them doesn't know about the other."

"Oh," Allison said, nodding. "Yes, I suppose, if one were in a novel."

"Where else would one have two suitors?" Lydia asked.

"You, at college," Allison said, smiling enough to make her dimples show. "You last year, for that matter, if you count Stiles."

Lydia waved a hand. "Now that there's Derek, I doubt I will have many suitors here."

"Do you still care for Derek?" 

"I do," Lydia said. "But—oh Allison, when she was at the hotel, I was thanking her and I took her two hands in my own and it was—" She stopped, cleared her throat, tried to work out what to _say_ because she hadn't said this part aloud, even to herself. "What you said, about when Scott touches you, even just when he brushes his hand against yours? That's how I felt, I think, and I've never felt that with anyone. Not Jackson, not Derek, not anyone. I even—I even wanted to kiss her."

"My goodness," Allison said, and her eyes were wide open. She sat down on the bed next to Lydia.

"Yes," Lydia said.

"So will you still marry Derek, if he asks? And see her marry Stiles, who, if Scott is anything to go by, probably will ask? And live on adjoining ranches or even in the same house together? Could you do that?"

"I don't know!" Lydia said. "I'm hoping—I'm hoping there might be some other solution."

"A solution where you and she could—like the Boston marriage you told me about?" She shook her head. "Poor Stiles. Poor Derek, too, I suppose."

"Not as such," Lydia said.

"Why not?" Allison asked. 

"You know that red scarf of his?" she asked. "The one he likes so much? Do you know who gave that to him?"

"I'd assumed Erica," Allison replied.

"No," Lydia said. "It was Derek."

Allison sat quiet for a moment. "My goodness."

"I'm hoping that Stiles can figure a way out of this, for all of us," Lydia said. "I'm telling you now because I'm going to ask him, on the train, on the way home."

"And I thought my life was adventurous," Allison said.

Lydia laughed. "You are eloping and then running away to be in show business! I think you still have us beat."

"Speaking of which," she said, "we probably should get some sleep before tomorrow."

" _Can_ you sleep?" Lydia asked. 

Allison had stood and was pulling her nightgown from her satchel. "Are you concerned about the exams?"

"Not a bit," Lydia said.

"That's how much I'm concerned about tomorrow," she said. "They want me or they don't, and Scott and I are getting married either way."

"Hmm," Lydia said. "Good."

Later, after they'd changed into their nightgowns and said their prayers and crawled into bed and turned out the lamp, and Lydia realized sleep wasn't coming, she said, "Thank you."

"For what?" Allison said, sounding no sleepier than Lydia felt.

"For not thinking me strange, what with Erica and Miss Hale and the Boston marriages and all," she replied. "For still being my friend."

"Why would thinking you strange keep me from being your friend?" Allison asked. "That's why I am your friend. You're strange, like me. I gave you a rabbit pelt from an animal I'd shot and you made a muff of it. You even thanked me."

"What girl wouldn't want a muff of rabbit fur?" Lydia asked.

"You're helping me join the Wild West Show. You solve math puzzles that no one else can even understand. Why would loving someone different be more strange than any of that?"

"You have a point," Lydia said. She turned to the window, which glowed with the light from the gas lamps on the street below. So odd, how the city was never entirely dark. She supposed she'd have to get used to that.

* * *

Stiles's plan was, in essence, to pose as Allison's agent. He and Lydia sat in the stands of the arena as Allison did various tricks, such as shooting at targets from a galloping horse. Despite the necessity of using a borrowed bow, she hit nearly every target dead center. She wasn't even intimidated by the large arena, which by Lydia's estimation must have been able to hold an audience of three thousand people. Lydia had never seen a building so large, and she knew Allison hadn't either. But then, when Allison was shooting things it was as though nothing existed but her and her target; Lydia had been out on the prairie with Allison and her bow enough times to witness that.

"Well, well," Mr. Cody said when they were finished. "You live up to your reputation, Miss Argent. We'd be very happy to take you on." He handed her some papers. "This is just a formality. If you could sign here?"

"May I?" Stiles asked.

"Of course, of course," Mr. Cody said.

Stiles sat and read, and when he was done he turned it around. "We have some stipulations."

"Do you now?" Mr. Cody said, sitting back in his chair. 

"Miss Argent should have control over her costumes," he said. "Nothing too revealing."

"This is a family show," Mr. Cody said. "We would have no problem with that."

"I see no mention of the position for Mr. McCall in here."

"Well, of course we'll have to wait until we can assess his abilities. And that is entirely separate—"

"By the time she joins you, Miss Argent will be Mrs. McCall. I'm sure you understand that her husband's position would be in no way separate."

"Arrangements can be made at that time—"

"And Mr. McCall has been raising cattle and tending to horses for five years now, on his farm. I'm sure that is experience enough."

"We'll see about that, Mr. Stilinski."

"We ask for nothing more than fair wages for Mr. McCall. So little we ask, I'm sure you'd agree both are worth it for a talent of Miss Argent's calibre."

"So little? We are the only game in town, I think you'll find."

"Ah, but that presumes that Miss Argent needs to play that game. I assure you, she'd be perfectly happy to attend college and then go back to Dakota and be a farm wife. Her only requirement is Mr. McCall, which I'm sure you'll agree is right and proper. If you want her for your show, those are our terms."

Mr. Cody sat back, his eyes narrowed. Stiles had such an air of nonchalance that Lydia wondered if he actually believed his own words to be true. For her part, Lydia tried to look as unconcerned as he.

At last Mr. Cody spoke. "Very well, Mr. Stilinski," he said. "Come back tomorrow and we'll have a revised contract for Miss Argent's signature."

"Thank you," Stiles said, getting to his feet and shaking Mr. Cody's hand. 

Outside, in the trolley, Stiles said, "Sorry I had to lay it on pretty thick back there, with the whole farm wife business."

"That's all right," Allison said, "but how do you know so much about contracts?" 

"Finstock used to be a theatrical agent back east, showed me a few of them. I can show them to you and Scott—then you can negotiate your next one." He paused. "Might be best to have Scott do it, actually."

"Because Mr. Cody would have more respect for a man?" Lydia asked, shaking her head. 

"That, but mainly, Scott comes across as so guileless they'll probably think they can pull one over on him, and you can use that to your advantage."

Allison looked at him as though she'd never seen him before. "Stiles, you have all the makings of a scoundrel! I'm glad you're on our side."

"See, I keep telling people they should include me in their schemes, and they never listen!" he said, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

* * *

The exams were as simple as Lydia had predicted. On Monday morning they wrote essays on passages from Shakespeare and Tennyson, and after lunch had a long, detailed examination on American history. Lydia was glad of the School Exhibition in that moment, as history was her worst subject; her memory of Stiles and Allison's recitations kept her from getting into any muddles.

Immediately after, they once again took the trolley to the arena, where Allison signed a contract with Mr. Cody that agreed to all of her stipulations of the previous day. She also received an immediate bonus to cover traveling expenses and such, which was more than welcome. She was to join up with them in the summer, and once they'd agreed on the date Lydia could almost see the gears beginning to turn in Stiles's head.

That night, as Sunday, the sitting room was near-empty, their fellow prospective students having apparently decided to do some last-minute studying. But Miss Hale was firmly against such actions, and in fact had forbade Allison, Lydia, and Stiles from bringing any schoolbooks along with them to San Francisco. So the three sat quietly, even Stiles, as though they needed to save all of their words for the exams.

Tuesday they had math in the morning, algebra and geometry and one or two questions beyond, nothing that troubled Lydia in the least. Geography and natural history came next, and were easily dispatched. Now they could do nothing but wait; the results would be mailed to them in a week's time.

That evening dinner was a good deal merrier, what with everyone having finished their exams, and there was even an impromptu dance in the sitting room that evening. Lydia of course was asked to dance by every fellow there, but she was proud to see Stiles's dancing remarked upon positively, and Allison getting some attention, as well. Not that any of this made them miss their hometown sweethearts any less, but it was good to know that just because one was a big fish in a little pond, one needn't be a little fish in the big one. They were, apparently, big fish wherever they went.

Lydia would have accepted nothing less.

* * *

Lydia had been thinking of a way to talk to Stiles about Erica and Derek without letting any of the other train passengers know what they were saying. It had been on her mind frankly more than the exams, but it wasn't until she was packing her satchel on Wednesday morning that she saw her way to it.

They had once again easily found three seats together, even though of course the train leaving San Francisco was more crowded than the one leaving Beacon had been. Once again Lydia and Allison sat next to each other, and Stiles opposite. When the train began moving, Lydia pulled the handkerchief out of her small purse.

"Isn't this lovely?" she asked Stiles, handing it to him.

"Did you make this?" he asked. "I'm not one for evaluating stitchery but it does seem very precisely done."

"I didn't make it, as it happens," she said. "It was a gift, from Erica. For luck."

"I see," Stiles said, scowling slightly because no, it wasn't the done thing.

Boldly Lydia reached across and touched the end of Stiles's red scarf. "Those Hales have a real knack for gift giving, don't they? So personal."

Stiles started at her, his eyes widening. He looked from her, to the handkerchief, and back. "Oh my gosh," he said.

"So, Stiles, I need to ask you—"

"Oh my _gosh_!" Stiles said again.

"Stiles!" Lydia said sharply, and nodded toward the people sitting in the banquette across the aisle.

He lowered his voice, almost to a whisper, and Lydia and Allison leaned in to hear. "But this explains so much! After the storm—you really _were_ jealous, but of me. Of me and Erica together."

"If you want to look at it that way," Lydia said.

"And at the dance—you weren't staring at _me_."

Lydia raised an eyebrow. "You weren't staring at _me_ , either," she pointed out.

Stiles sat back and laughed. "Well, don't this beat all!"

"I'm glad you're amused, but we have to figure out what to _do_ about this!" she said.

"What do you mean, what to do?" Stiles asked.

Lydia leaned in again, and so did Stiles. "I mean, I don't intend to go on like this. Handkerchiefs and secret scarf signals, it's ridiculous. I want what I want. You have to work out how I can get it."

Stiles nodded. "You ladies read your books," he said. "Leave me to think about this. By the time we're back in Beacon, I'll have a plan."

"Which I will of course improve once you tell me of it," Lydia said.

"That goes without saying," Stiles replied.


	16. (Derek)

With the spring weather came the move back to the claim. The school was in recess that first week of April, so Derek had Laura and Erica's full-time help packing up the house in town they'd had the use of for part of Laura's salary. The house Derek and Stiles had built over the summer had weathered the winter quite well, and if it weren't for the suddenness of blizzards in this part of the country (something Derek now understood all too well) they might have been able to winter there. But he was glad they'd stayed in town, even beyond assuring that Laura and Erica would be safe going to and from school. The Literary Society had made him feel part of the town, a man and not a boy, which he would never have been able to achieve in Kansas City under Uncle Peter's condescension. Being in town also made it much easier to court Lydia Martin. 

There were plenty of reasons besides Stiles, was the thing. Stiles was just the main one.

When Laura started up the school again, she'd be teaching an eight-week session through the beginning of June. The college class was finished, of course; its reason for existence was past and all its students had been graduated from high school via the practice exams they'd taken in late March. Erica would now be able to devote herself full time to farm work; she'd been eager enough to get to the horse business in the fall, so now nothing would stand in her way. Pa had wired a hundred dollars to Derek the week before, so he could buy a horse to be Erica's own, just as Pa had done for Derek years ago.

Well, he could postpone that for a week. Stiles would likely make his intentions to Erica known once he was sure of college. And once Lydia was sure, it would be a simple thing for Derek to let her down easy, with no shame on either side.

He was deep in these thoughts of the future while arranging the tack room when Boyd came by.

"Seems strange, now, to go all day without seeing you," Boyd said. They'd put up a small claim shanty on his land, and while he still came to the Hale claim for supper he bedded down at his own shanty more often than not.

"Without seeing Laura, you mean," Derek said.

"About that. I wrote to your father a couple of months ago," he said, holding up an envelope. "Just got his reply today."

"He gave you the go-ahead, I'm assuming."

"He did," Boyd said. "Can't quite believe it."

"I can. He took his time because he wrote to ask me, and, I assume, to ask Uncle Peter. Of course we both put in a good word for you. Heck, Erica wrote to him without his even asking—"

Boyd laughed at this. "Of course she did."

"Well, she wanted him to know how Laura felt, and a woman's perspective on how you treat her, and all that sort of thing. Besides, it isn't as though he and Ma haven't met you."

"That's so , but—I plain can't believe it."

"Why?" Derek asked. "You know my family's history."

"And you know same as I do that plenty of abolitionists who were happy to help a slave escape to Canada wouldn't let their pretty white daughter marry a Negro."

Derek shrugged. "Guess we aren't like plenty of abolitionists. Anyways, Laura is twenty-six, more than old enough to know her own mind, and she'd elope with you if she had to. I think Ma's just relieved she's marrying at all."

"Maybe so," Boyd said. "Well, Laura's made a picnic for us, so ..."

"I never worry about Laura when she's with you." He shook Boyd's hand. "I'd wish you luck but you already made it, yourself. I'll be proud to call you my brother."

Boyd nodded. "Thanks. I'm—well. Thanks. It'll be you, in not too long, I reckon."

"Maybe so," Derek said, nodding. 

After Boyd and Laura left, Derek kept himself and Erica busy getting the horses situated. There certainly was plenty to do, but he also was trying not to think about Stiles having returned from California the night before, about when he might see Stiles again. Could they even continue with their Saturday evenings, with Derek out on the claim and Stiles in town? 

He was just walking inside to see if Laura had left them anything for lunch—it would be like her, given Derek and Erica's lack of comfort in the kitchen—when he saw two riders approaching on the road from town. 

"Erica?" he called out. "You expecting anyone?"

Erica came around to the house from the paddock. "No?" she said, walking up to him. 

"Wonder who it could be, then," he said, and they stood there for some minutes watching.

"Is that—is that Stiles and Lydia?" Erica asked.

"Looks like," he said, though he couldn't imagine what on earth had possessed them to come up to the claim less than a day after returning from San Francisco. Surely they had other duties to attend to?

When they arrived there were the usual pleasantries, general questions about their trip and how things were in Beacon while they were gone, and then Derek said, "Well, Erica and I can take care of your horses, and we can all sit in the house."

"Actually," Stiles said, "if we could leave the ladies to the house, and you and I go …"

"Um," Derek said, a little at a loss. "We could sit in the stable, I suppose."

Stiles nodded to him, while next to them Lydia led Erica into the house. Erica looked back at Derek, confused, and he shrugged; all he could think was that Erica didn't seem to be worried that Lydia was seeing her in trousers, when usually Erica was a little insecure about her dresses compared to Lydia's. Or at least, she certainly went on about Lydia's dresses a good deal, and Derek would try to reassure her that she was perfectly lovely, always. 

Stiles and Derek tethered the horses and went into the stables, where Derek led Stiles to the mostly-empty space where the hay had been stored. Now there were only a few bales left of the loads that Stiles had helped Derek put up early last fall, and they sat down on two of them.

Then Stiles almost immediately hopped to his feet. "I'm going to say some things now, and I want you to just listen, all right? And talk after?"

"All right," Derek said, trying not to smile because Stiles looked very serious, but really: he loved being able to just sit and listen to Stiles talk.

"All right," Stiles said, nodding. "Because Derek, you gave me this scarf. You gave me this scarf and you look at me."

Derek could feel the panic coming, dug his fingers into the hay, because he'd gone too far and ruined everything, just like Kate always said he would—

"Oh my gosh, I'm scaring you, no, Derek, look at me."

Derek blinked and willed himself to meet Stiles's eyes.

"I love the way you look at me. I _want_ you to look at me like that. I love how your face gets when I look at you and I touch this scarf and I want to wear it all the time and think about you."

Derek swallowed, because this couldn't actually be happening, except it was, except he couldn't see anything other than sincerity in Stiles's eyes.

"But the thing is, I don't want to spend my life sending you secret signals with my scarf. Lydia says it's ridiculous and she's right. I want to kiss you and lay with you and love you, and sure we can pretend for others but not between us. I want to go to college and write you love letters and have you to come home to."

He couldn't help it; Derek glanced toward the house.

"The ladies, yes, the ladies are actually sorting themselves out right now," Stiles said, smiling a little. "And you know as well as any of us how Lydia gets when she wants something. Apparently Erica made her a handkerchief and it's really pretty and for some reason I couldn't quite understand that has her all excited. What I mean to say is, Erica is what Lydia wants, and I think the other way, too."

"Oh," Derek said, because, all right.

"So what I'm thinking is, for the outside world we just go on as before. We marry and we can all live together and you and Erica can raise horses and Lydia will sit around solving math problems or whatever it is she'll do and I'll find something, writing maybe or being a sheriff like my dad, maybe. And it will be good because I love Erica and I want her to be able to wear trousers all the time and you love Lydia, I know you do, and you're excited for her to go to college, and of course you love Erica and you know I think Lydia is the most incredible person on the planet so I just, I think this could actually work. Anyway I'm going to be eighteen on Tuesday and I know what I want and what I want is this." He paused. "What I want is you."

"You mean that?" Derek said, because he felt like his brain hadn't quite caught up to everything that Stiles had just said.

"Oh, I forgot to say: You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my life. And I know Lydia. And yes, I mean that. I mean everything I just said and it's taking all I've got not to kiss you right now, but you should be able to figure out how you feel without being molested. That's what Lydia said." Stiles stopped, and then he sat down, close enough that Derek could reach out to him if he wanted to. "So take the time you need. I could go, but I don't want to leave Lydia. All right, I'm going to stop talking now."

Derek looked at Stiles, wondering if he could get his head and his heart to catch up to the strange gone-feeling in his stomach, the way everything had been tipped upside down. He wanted to say yes, knew he was bound to say yes, but he had to know, had to make sure. 

"Come on," Derek said, taking Stiles's hand and pulling him to his feet and out of the barn.

"What? Derek?" Stiles said, walking quickly behind him.

He turned the corner, heading for the house and there, in the road, was Erica, doing _exactly the same thing_ , with Lydia just behind her.

"So," he said.

"So," she said. "Can we do this?" She looked excited, but unsure. Lydia, behind her, was as determined as ever.

And finally it all caught up to him, and he grinned at her. "Yes," he said. "Yes, we can do this. We're going to."

She walked closer and he pulled her up into his arms. She wrapped around him, arms and legs, and tucked her face into his neck just like she did when she was small. "I think, I think when I wanted to marry you?"

"I know," Derek said, because he did, finally.

"But this is better."

"Yes. This is better." He kissed her on the forehead and set her down.

"Don't stay out there," Lydia said, heading back into the house with Erica. "You should come inside."

"But—" Stiles began.

"Laura and Boyd are off having a picnic and getting engaged," Erica said. "They won't be back 'til suppertime, and it isn't even noon yet. And if you're worried about anything else, well, we'll have to get used to that part, won't we?"

Stiles grinned. "Looking forward to that."

Lydia was shaking her head, arms crossed. "We're going to spend all our time keeping them out of trouble, aren't we?" she said.

"Yes," Derek said. "Yes we are."

It didn't feel awkward at all after that to go into the house, to bring Stiles into his bedroom even though as Erica had said, it was only just past eleven o'clock. It didn't feel strange to close the door behind them knowing that Erica and Lydia were on the other side of the wall. They sat down next to each other on Derek's bed.

"Have you ever, you know, with another fella?" Derek asked him, though he was sure of the answer.

"No, have you?" Stiles said.

"Yeah, a few times. Not back home, but in Kansas City. Big city, you can find people who might share any predilection, I'd expect. But it was strangers, and only one time, never more, so I didn't care for it that much. I could do that much on my own. Anyways, we can do whatever you like, or not do, or … I don't have any _expectations_ , is what I'm saying."

"Well, you should know," Stiles said, "because Papa told Erica and I told Scott a long time ago, but when I was a kid back in Chicago I got in with a bad gang of boys and we broke into rich folks' houses."

"Is that why you came here, to Dakota?" Derek asked, because he'd wondered, and he knew it was _something_ because Stiles never talked about it.

"Somewhat," Stiles said. "I think Papa was worried about me growing up in the city, and wanted to leave for his own reasons, and missed Mama and all of that. But I'm telling you so you know. I don't do that anymore, but you should know."

"You couldn't have been that old," Derek said.

"Eleven," Stiles replied.

"Well, then. I know how that can be."

"Anyways, I also was telling you because on one of those nights we broke into this house that had a library, so they put me there while they went through the place looking for things they could sell, you know, jewels and the like. They knew I was bookish and would sit still."

"I can imagine," Derek said, because he could: curious little Stiles wandering around getting into things, and the bigger boys wanting to put him someplace and make him _stay put_. 

"And one of those books I found, well, it had pictures, I could tell, which is why I took it off the shelf but those pictures." He paused, blushing a little, then said, "They were naughty pictures. Of men and women. And women and women, and men and men. Fornicating."

"I see," Derek said, not even trying to hid the little shiver that came over him when Stiles over-enunciated that ridiculous word.

"I stole that book," Stiles said. "I put it in my bag and the other boys didn't care because it was some dumb old book, right? And I kept that book, managed to get it here from Chicago, have managed to hide it in my room all this time. Guess I'll bring it here, at some point. Because see, eventually? I want to do every single thing in that book, with you."

"Oh," Derek said. "All right. We can do that."

"Right now, though, I just—will you kiss me? You may kiss me. I've never kissed anyone, though."

"Neither have I," Derek confessed. "Those men—it wasn't kissing, we didn't kiss." He leaned forward, pursing his lips, and so did Stiles, and they kissed.

"The people in the books, they open their mouths," he said.

"All right." Derek mostly wanted to put his tongue and hands all over Stiles, but this was good, the way Stiles's mouth opened just a little, the way they overlapped their lips at first, Derek's upper lip between Stiles's. So wet, or so he thought until they made their tongues meet, opened their mouths wide to each other, licked into each other's mouths. Derek felt dizzy with it, hearing Stiles's breathing and his own. He pulled back.

"We should take our boots off," he said. 

"Boots?" Stiles asked, blinking, eyes unfocused. 

"I want to lie down on the bed," he said, "so take your boots off."

"Oh, all right," Stiles replied, and immediately kicked them off. 

Derek did, as well, and then they lay down on their sides facing each other, both heads on the pillow, barely fitting until Derek put an arm around Stiles, pulling him closer. They started kissing again and it was even better, feeling Stiles's body long and muscled against his. Stiles pushed closer still, slipping one leg between Derek's and—

"Oh," Derek said, because Stiles's cock was as hard as his own, and even thinking about that, he needed to close his eyes.

"Maybe we should get naked now," Stiles said, sitting up. "Can we get naked now?"

Derek nodded, because he wanted that, and because maybe that was good to stop kissing for a little bit, catch their breath. He pushed Stiles's jacket off his shoulders, unbuttoned his shirt, the union suit beneath it, and seeing Stiles's chest and the dark hair running down it made him feel greedy for all that skin. As Stiles shrugged out of his suspenders and shirt and union suit Derek unbuttoned Stiles's trousers, pushed all that fabric off Stiles's hips when he lifted them. He was trying not to think about Stiles's cock, hard and flushed dark and leaking; the second thing he should be kissing after Stiles's mouth probably shouldn't be his cock, but it was right there.

Stiles kicked off the clothes and his socks, pushed all of it off the bed into a pile on the floor, and he was naked now except for the scarf. He must have seen where Derek was looking because he said, "The men suck them. In the book, I mean. Have you done that?"

"Yes," Derek said.

"Has anyone done that to you?"

Derek nodded. "This fella—"

"I don't," Stiles interrupted, then stopped. "How many fellas were there?"

"Three."

"What did you do with them?"

Derek sat up, put his back against the headboard. "The first, we just, you know, what you do to yourself, only, we were looking at each other while we did it. The second, the sucking I was mentioning. The third, we used our hands but on each other."

"All right," Stiles said, rolling so that he was straddling Derek's lap. His hands went immediately to the buttons on Derek's shirt. "We're going to do all three of those things right now, today, and then you're going to forget about those men."

Derek smiled. "I already have."

"No other men," Stiles said firmly. He'd gotten off the shirt and was working on the union suit now. "I mean that."

"Nor you."

Stiles rolled his eyes. "I don't think—"

Derek took Stiles's face in his hands, his thumbs tracing those sharp cheekbones. "You don't think other men are going to look at you in San Francisco?" he asked. "You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. And I know Erica."

Stiles laughed a little, but Derek could see that he believed him—at least believed that Derek meant what he said, even if he discounted the larger truth of it, that men of their sort would look at Stiles and see something they wanted. But they'd never have it, not if Derek had anything to say about it.

Which, now, he did.

He lifted his hips as Stiles had for him, let Stiles put all his clothes in that same pile at the foot of the bed. "I was never naked with them," Derek said. "So you know."

"Seen a man naked?"

"Swimming," Derek said. "Not like this. Tried not to look anyway."

"You can look now."

"I am looking," Derek said, because he was, and Stiles was as pretty, naked with just the scarf on, as Derek had imagined he would be. But he also wanted to see that neck so he slowly unwound the scarf from Stiles's neck, hung it carefully on the headboard. 

Stiles ran his hands along Derek's legs, his thighs, and up his stomach and chest. "They never saw this?"

"Never," he replied, and he could feel Stiles's eyes burning paths along his skin.

"God, you're so …" Stiles's hands were still moving, all around until they finally landed on Derek's cock. "Gonna do this now."

"All right," Derek said, and reached for Stiles, too. He put his other hand behind Stiles's head, pulled him in closer. They kissed some, but mostly they looked down, watched their hands on each other's cocks, their breath coming faster.

Just then there were sounds from the other room, girlish moans and giggles, and Derek had to bite his lip. He didn't know whether to laugh, or—

"Hearing them makes me feel hotter," Stiles said. 

"Yeah," Derek agreed. "Yeah."

"We can make them hot, too," Stiles said. "Don't—don't hold back anything."

Derek shook his head, because by now he couldn't. He was glad to have the headboard at his back, glad he could help Stiles brace himself while they did this, because he couldn't have held himself up now. Stiles was moaning now and so was he, though they could still hear the ladies, and it was so perfect. 

"Oh god, oh god," Stiles said, and then he was spurting, white stickiness landing on Derek's stomach, dribbling down his hand. 

Stiles's grip grew tighter and Derek spent quickly after that. He couldn't even form words; all he could do was catch Stiles as his legs and arms went out, pull them both down to lay flat on the bed.

"Holy moly," Stiles said, and Derek chuckled. "You needn't be smug just because you've done that before."

"S'not why I'm smug," Derek said. "I'm smug because I'm with you." He was stroking Stiles's back, and let his hand drift down, get a handful of Stiles's ass.

"You like that?" Stiles asked, and Derek hummed. Stiles pushed himself up, resting his arms on either side of Derek's chest, and looked at him. "Hey, I did that."

"What?" Derek asked.

"Put that smile on your face."

"Like you don't have one," Derek said, and leaned in to kiss it, and again, and some more because he _could_ now. It was warm in the room and he felt a little lazy, not wanting to move but to just slowly kiss Stiles as much as possible.

Then, because he felt warm and safe and good, and because Stiles had told him something earlier, he said, "When I was young, younger than you, there was a girl. Her name was Kate."

"Oh?" Stiles asked. "You made that cutter for her, didn't you?"

"I did. She was older, in Laura's class. She was so pretty, and she liked me, and I thought—I thought maybe she could turn me."

Stiles nodded.

"And after Laura left for college, I took Kate out in that cutter, and it was nice. I wanted to marry her, and I asked her to wait for me." He shook his head. "She told me that she'd been watching me, letting me take her around because she saw something in me. She could tell, she said. She could tell I was an invert." He paused. "Only, that wasn't the word she used."

Stiles made a face. "Unkind," he said.

Derek smiled, ruefully. "She said I'd better not be trying to use some poor girl to hide my urges. She said I could never love or be loved because I was perverted, that I needed to go out west with the other perverts, get away from good family life."

"You're the most—you take good care of your family," Stiles said. "You are good family life."

"Well, I thought, I'd probably leave after I finished high school anyway. I'd promised Ma and Pa that I would stay in school until then. But that wasn't soon enough for Kate." Derek looked up at the ceiling. "She set fire to our barn. Started it right in the stall with my own horse, because Moonlight knew her so well."

"Oh my god," Stiles said. He took Derek's hand in his own and Derek squeezed hard against the tears forming in his own eyes.

"We rescued most of the stock," he said. "Folks figured it was someone who was jealous; Pa did pretty well with horses. But I knew. I knew, and when I saw her in town she said, 'Next time it'll be your house.'"

Stiles said nothing, just shook his head. 

"Pa wanted to move anyway," Derek said. "He wasn't impressed with how the town reacted to the fire. And Uncle Peter was already in Kansas, had been talking up the pasturelands out here. So we took all the stock we had left and we moved out to Nebraska. Folks are still there."

"And Kate?" Stiles asked.

"I don't know," Derek said. "Back east someplace."

Stiles swallowed, and then he said, "She's Allison's Aunt Kate, isn't she?"

Derek nodded.

"But she was _wrong_ , Derek. She was so wrong."

"That's why I can tell you," Derek said. "Because I know that now."

Stiles smiled then. "Good," he said, and they were kissing again.

Then there was a bang on the door. "Gentlemen," Erica said, "Lydia's making lunch so if you want some you should put some clothes on and come out here." 

Stiles turned to the door. "How many clothes?" he asked.

"Cover your bits!" Lydia said. 

"Aww," Stiles said to Derek. "I was gonna go out there in just a shirt."

And Derek had to laugh at that.

They put on the bottoms of their union suits, leaving the tops hanging from their waists. Derek found a dirty shirt in the corner and used it to clean up their stomachs from where they'd spent. Out in the front room, Erica was slicing apples—she was wearing her shirt and just a pair of bloomers. Lydia was in a chemise, cutting the bread.

"Wash your hands," Lydia commanded, pointing at the basin with her knife.

They did as they were told, and then sat down to bread and apples and cheese. Derek watched Lydia and Erica together, and they were all secret little smiles and giggles, looked how he felt. He was glad he and Stiles had made such a sound little house, or it might explode with all this happiness.

"So," Lydia said, when the lunch had been eaten and Stiles and Derek had washed the few dishes. "Not until suppertime, you said?"

"Well, until Laura would want to be back to fix supper," Erica said. "Say, four o'clock?"

"I'm certainly not going to waste any of that time," Stiles said. "Are you?"

"Not a minute," Derek replied.


	17. (Erica)

Erica had heard people talk about spring as a time for new beginnings, and while she understood that for the land, she'd never felt that way about herself until that spring of '85. _Her_ fancy had certainly turned to thoughts of love, and not lightly, either. Everything smelled green and fresh, buds on the trees tiny and brave in the chilly, wet April weather. 

She was glad for that nip in the air, because she needed her big coat to hide what she was wearing. Erica was driving the small buggy over to Lydia's, her sewing in a bundle next to her on the seat. As soon as Laura's engagement was announced, Ma had sent a list of what Laura would need for her trousseau, and as Laura was still teaching, she needed Erica's help. Erica wasn't good with fine work, but she could cut a pattern and baste fabric together, at least, and sewing with Lydia and sometimes Allison out at the Martin claim gave her more of a sense of companionship. At home, she'd be resentful to be inside rather than out with Derek and the horses.

Besides, Stiles was working for Derek again, and with the Martins in town at the hotel and Laura teaching both couples could get the privacy they craved during the day. Still got some work done, too.

As she neared the little house, Lydia watched from the door, workaday pretty in her calico dress and large apron, her hair pulled back at the sides but not put up. "You're wearing a dress," she said.

"One you haven't seen," Erica replied, careful not to reveal it as she got out of the buggy with her bundle and tied the horses to the hitching post.

Lydia raised her eyebrows. "How could I have not seen it?" she asked.

Erica smiled, she hoped mysteriously, and escorted Lydia back into the house, where Lydia wasted no time in relieving Erica of her coat. 

Underneath, she was wearing not her usual mannish work clothes, but the dress she'd had made in Kansas City, the one she hadn't worn since then. Emerald green sateen, trimmed in black, was cut low in the front to the tops of her breasts; short cap sleeves covered her shoulders, leaving her neck and arms bare. The bodice was tight and self-corseted, with the black corset-strings visible both across her stomach and up her spine, leaving her breasts more on display than in anything else she wore. The skirt came only just past her knees, flaring out over a black petticoat. Under it she wore matching bloomers, green with black lace trimming and tiers across her rear end. Having only one layer of fabric between her and the world was strange, almost like being naked, but her saloon-girl friends had dressed like this every day.

"What do you think?" she asked.

"You're dressed like a harlot," Lydia said, then put her hands to her mouth. "I'm sorry, no. A saloon girl."

"You'd never wear a dress like this, would you?" Erica asked. "A nice girl like you wouldn't even go into a saloon, much less work in one and use her poker earnings to buy a dress."

Lydia tossed her head and straightened her spine. "I might go in," she said, "if you were there, dressed like that."

"So you do like it," Erica said, raising her eyebrows. 

"The color suits you. The dress—" she paused, running a hand along the shiny fabric—"certainly fits you nicely."

Erica could feel herself blushing. "Still like the trousers better."

Lydia hummed, which Erica took to mean yes because Lydia had a habit of not answering questions she felt you already knew the answer to. "Who laced you into it?"

"Derek." Which had been funny because even though he was one of the very few people who'd already seen the dress, that day in Kansas City when she brought it home, he was shy about helping her on with it.

"So it must be simple." Lydia had a predatory gleam in her eye, like a stalking animal, as she took up the end of one of the corset strings in the front. "I just untie this?" she asked.

"You can," Erica replied, and she couldn't quite breathe, even though she'd started this with the dress and all.

Lydia pulled the knot loose, then kept pulling, leading Erica into the bedroom. Not that anyone else was there, but Lydia was a lady and didn't even like to kiss unless it was behind a closed door. She let go of Erica long enough to pull off her own dress in one quick motion, and Erica's fingers immediately went to Lydia's corset-strings. (Once they'd been kissing while still fully dressed and Lydia had almost fainted, which was not an experience Erica wanted to repeat.) Corset and petticoat came off quickly, leaving Lydia in her chemise, and then Erica shrugged out of her loosened dress.

"Here," Lydia said, pulling her down onto the bed. They rarely said anything when they were in bed together, preferring to kiss and stare and do, to move the other girl's hand to where it felt best, perhaps moan with appreciation. Erica had Lydia's chemise rucked up around her waist and after a last kiss she slid down, put her head between Lydia's legs. They hadn't done this very many times—to be fair, hadn't done anything very many times—but this was Lydia's clear preference, to have Erica kiss her _there_ , where she was wet and smelled of sex and womanliness and things that could make Erica dizzy even without having a corset on. 

Erica looked up from her task from moment to moment to make sure Lydia was still with her, even though Lydia certainly had no problem letting Erica know when she wasn't getting it quite right. She was now, though; she'd always been a quick learner. Now Lydia was moaning, eyes closed and head thrown back, clearly enjoying Erica's ministrations. Erica kept her lips and tongue on the special spots she'd discovered, ran her hands along Lydia's shapely thighs, until Lydia spent, grunting in the most delicate way possible, and pushed Erica's head away. 

Erica sat up, licking her lips and grinning, and kicked off the green and black bloomers. Lydia looked like a faerie or one of those ethereal Tennyson women, her titian hair spread around her head and her cheeks flushed. Though, Erica wasn't sure Tennyson had ever written about the kinds of things that had made Lydia grow pink and breathless as she was now. 

"Come here," Lydia said, arms open, and Erica lay down atop her. Lydia slipped one knee between Erica's legs and put her two hands on Erica's backside, pressing her down, until Erica rut like a cat against her. "That's right."

Erica could feel Lydia beneath her, breasts soft and yielding while her thigh was firm. Lydia's hands were strong, and Erica let herself succumb to the sweet friction of flesh on flesh, the tremor that had started low in her stomach when she walked into the house becoming greater and greater until she spent.

They kissed again, soft at first but growing bolder, and Erica was wondering if they were going to go again when there was a knock on the door. They startled, staring at each other, until they heard a familiar voice call out, "Lydia!"

Because of the people who might find the two of them alone together, Allison Argent was definitely the safest.

"One moment!" Lydia called out, and threw on her work dress over her chemise so she could go open the door, having pulled in the latchstring when Erica arrived. 

Erica put her own dress back on, expecting Allison to have some reaction to it, but the other girl just stared and then said, "Would you mind terribly if I borrowed that dress sometime?"

"I think Scott is fairly clear on liking the looks of you no matter what you're wearing," Erica said saucily.

Allison blushed just slightly. "It wasn't for that reason," she said.

"Then why?" Erica asked, pulling her boots back on.

"And may I say," Allison went on, as if Erica had said nothing, "that it is highly unfair that you needn't worry about babies and so can do whatever you like, together? I know you can't marry—"

"But that's just it, we can't marry," Lydia said. "We have to marry someone else. Also you're early, so it's your own fault that you caught us in dishabille. So you must have a reason?"

"Oh, yes!" she said, reaching into her pocketbook and pulling out three envelopes. "This. Scott and I were in town and checked at the post office just in case. I didn't think the postmaster would let us have Stiles and your letters, but you know how it is when Scott asks nicely."

"From the college?" Lydia said, her eyes wide. It was the first time Erica had seen Lydia look anything but supremely confident in that matter.

"We thought we could all open them at once?" Allison said. "Scott's gone to the Hale claim and I'm to bring you back there, so go get your corset on."

"Of course," Lydia said, and stepped back into her bedroom.

Erica turned to Allison. "You're welcome to borrow the dress, but why do you want it?"

"I have some … things I need to do, some physical things, and I wonder if they might be easier in a shorter dress. Or if I would need trousers."

"You know I have trousers as well?" Erica asked. "Which you're also welcome to borrow, though I'm still curious as to what these physical things are."

Lydia called out, "You may as well tell her, you know. It's only fair."

"I'd need to ask Scott first, I think," Allison replied, scowling slightly.

Lydia emerged from the bedroom then, rolling her eyes, and looking so much like Derek in that moment that Erica wasn't sure how she felt. "Shall we go, then?" 

Allison had rode over, and went out slightly ahead of them on her horse. Lydia came with Erica in the buggy, but she was quiet, restless, twisting a curl of her hair endlessly in her fingers. Erica held the reins in one hand, picked up Lydia's with the other, looking to give her a distraction.

She tensed, her guard up. "I'm not nervous about college, if that's what you wanted to say. I don't need comforting." But she didn't take her hand away.

"Of course not," Erica said. "I just wanted to say, I respect that you haven't broken Allison's confidence by telling it to me. Many wives tell their friend's secrets to their husbands, and I suppose that's what we are, wives to each other, and that you didn't tell me means you're a good friend. I admire that."

"Thank you," Lydia said, relaxing slightly. "I wouldn't betray yours, either. Not even to your husband."

Erica smiled at that. "I don't know," she said. "I wonder, if we follow through with Stiles's plan of marriage and such, won't we have to all be truthful to each other? It's almost as though we're all marrying each other, really. Isn't that what you said, that day at my house?"

"Maybe that's true," Lydia said. "I suppose we'll find out, anyways." 

They were silent after that, until they got back to the house, where Scott, Stiles and Derek awaited them. 

"Oh for—you could _at least_ have combed your hair!" Allison said when she walked in.

"How would that matter?" Derek asked, but he ran a hand through his hair anyway.

"Never you mind," Allison said, pointedly not looking at Scott, and handed out the envelopes to Stiles and Lydia. "All at once?"

The boys had stood when they came in and now they made a rough circle in the kitchen, watching as envelopes were opened and letters scanned and small, slow smiles appeared on three faces.

"Yes?" Lydia asked.

"Yes," Stiles replied.

"Yes!" Allison shouted.

It was chaos after that, hugs and handshakes and excited laughter all around. Then Derek said, "So that's good, the three of you will have each other at college. And I suppose the three of us will have each other back here at home."

Scott and Allison looked at each other, slightly guilty.

"All right, I'll say it," Stiles said. "I don't much like being asked to keep secrets from whom I suppose is my husband, nor my future wife. Particularly as the four of us are burdened with secrets enough of our own, which you share, I think you should let them share your burden, too."

Scott sighed. "Allison isn't going to college," he said. "At least not now."

"I'm going to be in Buffalo Bill's Wild West Show," she said.

Erica and Derek stared, surprised. Erica had known that Allison was talented, had heard the rumors about Buffalo Bill's letter, so she couldn't say it was unexpected, just that she'd never thought this sort of thing happened to real people. 

"Of course you are," Derek said. "But Scott, what will you do?"

"Take care of the animals in the show," he said. "I've always liked raising cattle more than raising grain anyway."

Allison added, "We're to be married in July, out at the mission, and then instead of going on a wedding tour we'll be going on a much longer trip." She smiled at him, and he took her hand.

"And your farm?" Derek asked.

"Stiles suggested renting it," Scott said, "but it's difficult without Allison's father finding out."

"What about Boyd?" Erica said. They all turned and looked at her, which made her a little nervous, but she went on. "He's been making some noise about getting an additional claim. No one would think a thing of his going up to help you this spring, Scott, being as you're friends and all. Then he could just take over once you've left."

"You know," Scott said, "I think I'll do just that. Thank you, Erica."

"Yes, thank you," Allison said. "It's the perfect plan."

Lydia was smiling at her, and she smiled back. Then she noticed Stiles, out of the corner of her eye, gaping at her. "What?" she asked.

"I'm going to _marry_ that woman," he replied.

Derek shook his head. "You are the most ridiculous person," he said, not without affection.

* * *

The Martins threw a supper party for the entire graduated college class, their parents, and their teacher in celebration. Derek being invited wasn't surprising, given that he was Lydia's beau and had been to supper at their home a few times over the winter. But for Boyd to be extended an invitation by Mr. Martin to eat at the same table as the sheriff and Mr. Argent was a statement even if he was Laura's fiancé. That Beacon had a Negro as its town doctor was one thing; that they approved well enough that their teacher was marrying a Negro farmer to ask him to dinner was another. 

"Do you know Martin asked if I'd like to be on the Literary Society next winter?" Boyd said as they made their way home in the large buggy. "Can you imagine?"

"I can," Laura said. "Before you know it, you'll be one of the upstanding members of this town."

Erica giggled. "If Derek can do it, you certainly can," she said, which earned her a cuff to the back of her head from her brother, who was driving.

"Don't make me regret this graduation gift I was going to give you," Derek said.

"Gift?" Erica asked, turning to him. "What gift?"

"Well, since Pa couldn't just give you your first horse as he did me, he sent a hundred dollars."

"Oh my goodness!" Erica said. 

"But," Derek continued, "I did just sell those colts the other week. Three hundred dollars, a hundred dollar profit, and fifty of that is yours. You earned it, fair and square."

"A hundred and fifty dollars, to buy a horse," she said. She thought about this, looking out at the night and the stars, and then said, "You know, what I'd like to do? I'd like to wait a bit and find a horse to team with Queenie." Caesar and the Duchess's offspring, a yearling now, was growing into quite a fine filly. 

"Well, since we're going to be partners in this," Derek said, "we can take a trip come the fall, see if we can find a horse worthy of Queenie."

Erica didn't miss the timing of that trip, just when Stiles and Lydia would be leaving for college. "I'd like that very much," she replied. "Maybe we can get another filly; after all, you have David and Jonathan."

"We'll see," he replied, but he was smiling.

When they got back to the house, Laura invited Boyd to come in, which was surprising given the late hour. She put on water for tea and coffee and they all sat down at the table.

"We wanted to let you both know, before Ma and Pa get here, that we know," Laura said. "And we support you both. All of you, really."

Derek and Erica looked at each other, because surely she didn't mean _that_. "You know what?" Derek asked.

"About who you really care for, of course," Laura said. "Don't panic, Derek; I don't imagine anyone else could tell."

Derek took Erica's hand. "But how could you? Tell, I mean?"

Laura smiled a little. "Remember that day Lydia came to tea and you were teasing me about my letter from Boyd?"

"The day I took her home, because of the storm?" he asked.

"She'd been asking me about Boston marriages and what might happen between girls in colleges," Laura said. "And she was just a little put out when you started talking about Boyd. Oh, she turned her attentions to you quickly enough—she's a sharp one; she knows her appeal and how to use it—but I think she might have had a little pash, even if I do flatter myself."

"I see," Derek said. 

"When Laura told me about these Boston marriages," Boyd said, "I thought back to that summer in Kansas City, and how Erica was around those saloon girls. I hadn't been worried about Erica in that saloon because none of the men could even get near her; it was as though the regulars and the folks running the place had adopted her. She didn't need much of my protection, to be honest. But those saloon girls treated her almost like boy. Maybe just because she was in trousers, but they flirted with her a-plenty. All that poker playing, too. They damn near fought over her."

Erica blushed a little. "It wasn't like _that_ ," she said. "I didn't have a _pash_ for any of them."

"But you do now?" Laura asked. "For Lydia?"

Erica looked to Derek, who nodded. "Yes," she replied. "More than that."

Boyd put his hand on her shoulder, rubbed it a bit. 

"And me?" Derek asked, sounding so woeful that Erica wanted to hug him, remembered why she'd been so fixed on marrying him.

"Oh, brother, don't you think Kate Argent came to bother me, after you all moved out west?" she asked. "Why do you think I came to see you once I'd been graduated, rather than going back to Ma and Pa?"

"You were looking after me?" he asked.

"Well, someone had to. Peter certainly wasn't. There were whispers about you in Kansas City; I couldn't stand it. And that was just because you didn't have a girl and they couldn't see why not, with you being so … oh, eligible is such a terrible word, but there it is. That's why I applied for this job. I wanted to get you away from so many prying eyes, back to the countryside where people just live and let live."

Derek nodded, but he was staring at the table. "I was trying—"

Boyd held up his hand. "It ain't you," he said. "You can't keep everything under a lid all the time, is what my Pa always says. Sooner or later, it's going to boil over. You think I don't know what folks say about me being with your sister? But I just take it out on the work, until they don't have anything to say. Until I get invited into the Literary Society and sit down at dinners with the sheriff. Doesn't always work, of course, but it helps."

Derek turned to Laura. "So when you said that I'd been broken-hearted?"

"Yes, I meant Stiles," she said. "I knew. He just makes you so _happy_ , Derek. I haven't seen you this happy since before I left for college. Since before the fire and whatever Kate poisoned you with. And watching you struggle so hard with it, and hate yourself for it—how could I think you were wrong? You weren't hurting a single person."

"You mean you wouldn't say I'd corrupted Stiles?" he asked.

"Nobody can get that boy to do anything he doesn't want to do. I'm sure you know that better than anybody."

Boyd nodded. "And we aren't in any position to judge about what love is right and wrong. Both of you have never been anything but happy for me and Laura. We wanted to return that favor."

"So," Derek said, squaring his shoulders. "What happens now?"

Laura said, "What I want to know is, are you still looking to get married?"

"Yes," Erica replied. "Stiles made a plan. I marry him, and Derek marries Lydia, and since Derek and I are going in on the horses anyways no one will much notice all of us being together in this house. Unless you think—we thought we were doing pretty well, fooling folks."

"You are so far," Laura said. "You'll probably continue to. You have more unforced affection between you than most married couples show, and that helps."

"Are you going to tell the folks?" Derek asked.

"I don't see why," Laura said, "but they should meet Lydia and Stiles, shouldn't they? Are you planning on waiting until after college to get engaged?"

"Stiles and I have been talking about it," Derek said, "and I didn't want to take anything away from you and Boyd. I thought we might announce it after the wedding. Though he wants to ask Pa for permission while he's here. Then we'll marry next summer maybe? See how college treats everyone."

"At least you'll all have each other to lean on," Boyd said. "And you'll have us."

"I'm awfully glad you said something, Laura," Erica said. "I'm glad you know."

"Me too," Derek said. "I hated keeping anything from you, Laura. Guess I couldn't, anyways."

"No," Laura said. "You never could."

* * *

And then there were the wedding preparations. Ma and Pa came up from Nebraska as soon as Laura's school ended, and Boyd's people came in from Colorado. Before they arrived, Erica worked hard to get the sewing done, the house cleaned. Derek made a new large straw mattress for Ma and Pa in his room, and put his small bed out in the kitchen. It was tight quarters for everyone, but it was just for two weeks.

Stiles was around all the time, of course, as there was still farm work to be done, and once the Hales had arrived he had just taken to doing all of the cooking since Laura was busy and no one wanted Erica to be in charge of that task. And there were many suppers—with Lydia and Stiles, with Lydia's parents and the sheriff, with the reverend and Boyd's people. Erica thought she might fly apart what with not being able to see Lydia alone, but then remembered that Lydia would be gone for so much of the next four years that she might prepare herself now. 

The wedding itself, as any event planned by Laura, was beautiful. Laura wore a simple white gown with a lace fichu at the neck, and Boyd had a new suit, too; they made a very handsome couple. Erica stood with Laura, and Derek with Boyd, and Boyd looked so happy and amazed that everyone else had to grin, too. Erica wore a bright blue bridesmaid dress, meant not to cry but did anyway. When she walked back down the aisle with Derek she spotted Lydia and Stiles sitting together. Stiles winked at them, bold as anything, so Derek and Erica were laughing as they left the church.

They had the wedding party back at their own claim. Stiles and Lydia had made the wedding cake in the big kitchen at the Martin hotel, and brought it up to the Hale claim that morning, where it sat at the center of the big table. The dishes that Erica and Ma and Laura had been cooking were laid out, too, as well as the pig that Boyd's people had brought from Colorado and roasted, slowly, for the past day. It was a day for feasting, and much of the town came to see their teacher wed. It spoke well for how accepting they all would be of Boyd and Laura and their future children, that they came to bless the wedding day. 

There was even dancing, eventually, and though Erica thought she was too full to move she _had_ to take a turn with Boyd.

"I'm so _glad_ for you," she said to him. "And that we're friends."

"Family now," Boyd said. "Gives me even more of an excuse to try to keep you out of trouble."

Of course, once Stiles saw that she was dancing he had to keep her dancing, and she realized this was her future, too: endless dances and weddings with Stiles wanting to be up for every song, learn the latest steps from the city. He was grinning at her, so happy, and she wasn't sure there could be a better sweetheart for her. Other than Lydia, of course, who was gorgeous in her violet dress and yet kept looking at Erica appreciatively.

"She loves you," Stiles whispered, smiling, and they laughed with the secret shared.

Boyd's family was kind, but understandably a bit standoffish and proper. Boyd and Laura were going back with his folks to Colorado, staying in Denver for a few days to see plays and go to restaurants and such before a brief visit further into the mountainous countryside where Boyd was from. Erica was sure that Laura would have no trouble charming her way into that family's good graces, especially since Boyd was so happy with her.

It didn't even hurt too awfully much to see Boyd and Laura off at the train station the next morning. Sure, she and Laura would likely never share a room again, but they wouldn't be far, and Erica suspected that she and Derek would probably be spending a good deal of time with Laura and Boyd over the winter, while they tried not to miss Stiles and Lydia too much.

* * *

Pa came out to the barn to see her that next night, when she was busy seeing to Queenie. "She's a nice one," he said. "Hear you want to pair her up with another filly."

"I'd like to try," Erica replied.

"Make breeding complicated," he said. "Take out your whole team."

She shrugged. "Doubt they'd both be down at the same time," she said. "And then it's no different than Caesar and the Duchess. Besides, don't want David and Jonathan to have another rival for her." 

"Maybe so, maybe so," he said, nodding.

Erica cocked her head. "Did you come to ask me about Stiles?" she said.

"Don't have to," he replied. "Your young man's been up here every day save Sunday, making himself useful and charming your Ma. He's a smart, capable lad who's going places, and he clearly adores you. I was often worried you wouldn't find a man to live up to your standards, as much as you idolized your brother, but I can see you think Mr. Stilinski just about walks on water."

She couldn't help but grin; she _did_ like Stiles an awful lot. Loved him, probably. "I might," she said.

"And Derek considers him a friend. That's important, with you two going in together and all. He and Derek shouldn't have much trouble sharing a household."

"Indeed they shouldn't," Erica said, trying not to laugh.

"Well, I reckon he'll come to me now the wedding's over, and I'll be happy to give him my permission."

"Thanks, Pa," she said. "I'm glad you like him."

"He doesn't worry me. But I wonder about this Martin girl. Do you like her?"

Erica put her attention back onto Queenie, not wanting to give anything away in her expression. "She's a good friend," she replied.

"I mean for Derek," Pa said. "She just seems so cool and proper. Smart as a whip, and that's good for him; he could use a push sometimes. Knows how to get her own way. Charming little thing. But she seems to accept his affections, rather than seeking them out at all. And she isn't easily pleased."

Now that she was called upon to defend Lydia, Erica wasn't sure at all what to say. "She isn't, that's true," Erica said. "But she's been pleased by Derek. I think she needs his support, Pa. She is such a smart girl and he's steadfast in wanting her to go to college. He admires her for that, and there's not many men that would. She's so beautiful, but he sees more than that. Just for that alone, she knows she's very lucky."

"I can see that would be a blessing for her," Pa allowed.

"She isn't pushing _him_ to be something other than what he is, either. She's often expressed her admiration for his way with horses." Erica paused, and then said, "I think she just isn't a person who can easily express her feelings, straightforwardly. She's more like Derek that way, less like Stiles or me. You're just used to Derek and his ways, but think how he might look on the outside."

"You certainly like her," he said. "You think she's worthy of your big brother?"

"More than worthy," Erica replied. 

"Well, then you ease my mind," he said, walking toward her. "Laura's been singing her praises, but she so wants her brother to be happy, and she can be blind to some things."

Erica had a wild terror that Pa might _know_ , that Kate Argent might have said something, or that Uncle Peter had conveyed the rumors from Kansas City. "He loves her, Pa, and she loves him," she said, and didn't even have to lie.

"Your Ma wants to give him her Ma's ring," he said. "Think Lydia Martin would accept an old, small emerald?"

"If it was from Derek, I think she very much would," Erica replied.

He put an arm around her shoulder, and smiled down at her. "You're a good girl, Erica," he said, kissing her on the forehead. "You've grown into a fine young lady. We were blessed, the day you came to us."

Erica felt herself tearing up, and buried her head in Pa's shoulder to hide it. "Thank you, Pa," she said.

"Three children, settled all at once," he said. "Who would have thought it?"


	18. (Stiles)

The elder Hales were staying in Beacon for a few days after the wedding, to visit more with Derek and Erica, and while Stiles knew that he'd have no better opportunity to ask Mr. Hale for permission to marry his daughter, he was terrified of the conversation. Mr. Hale was genial, but Stiles could see where his son's impatience with stupidity had come from. Stiles knew he was clever enough, but he also knew that he could come across as a fool and he wasn't entirely sure which side he'd shown over the last two weeks.

"Just go ahead," Derek said one day as they worked on a bit of the fencing that had weakened in a recent storm. "He likes you; I can tell."

" _You_ like me," Stiles said. "I think that colors your perceptions."

"Not a bit," Derek replied. "You never see yourself clearly, even though you can see everyone else. It's the darnedest thing."

"I suppose," Stiles said.

But this time Derek was right, because when Stiles went inside near the end of the day and said, "Mr. Hale, I wonder if we might—" the other man held up his hand.

"Young man, if you're asking for my daughter's hand, you may have it without any reservations from her mother or me," he said.

Mrs. Hale nodded. "You make her happy, you have planned for the future along with my son, and that's good enough for us."

"I think it's the horses that make her happy," Stiles said. "I just want to make sure she's always close to them."

"That's just what I mean, son," she said, smiling.

Stiles heard Derek coming in the door behind him. "And you don't mind that I'm a Catholic? Erica and I haven't discussed this yet, but—"

"I'm not sure if you noticed, but my daughter just married a Negro," Mrs. Hale said. "Our grandchildren will be Negroes, or mulattos I suppose, and they aren't going to have an easy time of it, neither. So long as you believe in something outside of yourself—Jesus, God, nature, what have you—that's fine."

"Should have told you," Derek said, plucking an apple off the shelf, "Ma's a Transcendentalist."

"Good enough for Mr. Emerson is good enough for me," she said.

"The Hales are Unitarians going way back," Mr. Hale added.

Suddenly so many things about the Hales made sense—sending a daughter to one of the new women's colleges, Derek's vague allusions to abolitionism before the war. Why, Mrs. Hale was probably even for The Vote. "Well," Stiles said, at a loss.

"I suppose we should ask what your plans are for after college," Mrs. Hale said. 

"I might like to be a newspaper man," Stiles said. "I wouldn't have minded being a Pinkerton like my Papa, but they're beholden to the money men, and now they've gotten into strike-breaking. Wanted Papa to infiltrate the union on account of his being Polish, which is why he quit them."

Mr. Hale nodded toward Derek, who'd settled into the corner to eat his apple. "Something amusing you, son?" he asked.

"First day Stiles came up to work for me," he said, "he declared himself a union man and made it clear that he expected a full half hour for lunch."

"I just wanted to set expectations," Stiles said. 

Derek started to laugh, open and easy, and Stiles couldn't look away, hoped that all the fondness he felt wasn't showing on his face in that moment. Derek certainly didn't laugh like that on Stiles's first day working for him, no matter how much Stiles had joked around. But now he did often, and Stiles liked to think part of the reason was him.

Aloud, Stiles said, "I'm so glad I can amuse you."

"It's a good thing," Mr. Hale said. "You'll be brothers soon enough."

Derek looked in danger of bursting into laughter all over again at the weirdness of that idea; Stiles didn't dare make eye contact. "Well," he said, "I should go talk to my Papa."

"Welcome to the family," Mr. Hale said, extending his hand.

"Thank you, sir," Stiles said. "I'll take real good care of your daughter."

"I know you will."

* * *

"So, Papa," Stiles said that night. "I know that Mama—"

Papa held up his hand and went into his room, emerging with a small box. "I think this will suit your Miss Hale real well," he said.

Stiles peeked inside, and had to smile at how well Papa understood Erica after only speaking with her a few times. "This will do just fine," Stiles replied. "Thanks."

Papa waved his hand. "She'd want your young lady to have it. No use sitting in a drawer." He paused. "But you're sure?"

"We just sort of fit together," Stiles said. "I couldn't imagine marrying any other girl."

"I just don't want you to settle, and then get to college and see you might have wanted something else. Your Mama and I—we didn't have long, but what we had ..." He turned and looked out the window, blinking his eyes.

"I have that, Papa," Stiles said, glad he could reassure him honestly. Then, thinking of all he'd seen of Lydia and Erica together, he added, "We both do."

Papa nodded. "All right then," he said. "On that subject, well, Mrs. McCall and I thought, what with you and Scott leaving home soon—"

"Scott? Leaving?" Stiles asked. "This is the first I've heard of—"

Papa put his hand up. "This plan with Boyd coming in so they don't have to sell their land, and not coming back from the wedding trip is your work all over, so do me the courtesy of telling me the truth, yes?"

"All right, yes," he said, sighing. "But Mr. Argent can't know."

"They're both over eighteen and as far as the law is concerned, they can do as they please. At least they aren't eloping, is the best that I can say for it."

Stiles nodded, glad Papa didn't ask for specifics. "You were saying?"

"Well, Mrs. McCall and I, we thought it would be ... convenient to combine households. She wants to leave the house at the claim for Boyd and his new Mrs., and she could also rent out the building in town full year. With you gone I'd probably be there nearly every night for supper, anyway."

"But this isn't _just_ convenience, is it?" he asked.

Papa smiled. "I can't complain at having my question asked back to me," he said. "But no, it's more than just convenience."

"Well, I admit that makes me feel better about going away, myself," Stiles said.

"Don't you worry about me," Papa said. "Let me worry about you a while longer, all right?"

Stiles nodded. 

"So we reckoned, we could all take the train out to the mission at Christmastime, when you're home from school and Allison and Scott will have a few days rest. Father James said he'll oblige. Bring your young lady. And her brother, since he's such a great friend of yours."

He blinked because—no. Surely there were _some_ secrets he was successful in keeping from his father. The less said, the better, likely. "I'll do just that," he said.

* * *

The very day after the elder Hales left Beacon, when the four of them were sitting down to eat lunch, Stiles pulled the box out of his pocket and put it on the table. Erica and Derek stared at him, and there was silence until Lydia finally spoke.

"What is that, exactly?" she asked.

"It seemed wrong to do this without everyone here," Stiles said, tapping the top of the box with nervous fingers. He opened his mouth to say something, but wasn't sure what was next. He sighed, then started again. "When my parents were married, Papa didn't have the money to buy a ring. But by the time I was born, he was with Pinkerton and he got her this, as a present." He slid the box over to Erica.

She opened it, and her eyes went wide.

"The stone's a garnet," Stiles said, watching her carefully lift the necklace from the box. "Red, well, you can see it, obviously it's red, but it's not a ruby or anything. The gold's real, though. I thought, you wore that dress? And a ring might get in your way while you're working. Papa wanted you to have it, too, so."

"It's beautiful," Erica said, staring at it. 

"So I reckon if you want it, then we'll get married. I know we already said, but I thought, anyway, you should have that. For when you're a Stilinski."

"Erica Stilinski," she repeated. "Could you help me put it on?" she asked.

"Sure," Stiles said, taking it from her, and as she lifted her hair he placed it on her neck and closed the clasp. 

She was wearing working clothes, a plain pale blue shirt and trousers, but the shirt was open at the neck, showing the garnet that sat just below the hollow of her throat.

"It even looks nice with your shirt," Stiles said.

Erica took his hand. "Thank you," she said.

"If things were different, I guess I'd be kissing you right now," Stiles said.

Lydia cocked her head. "I think you should," she said. "Wouldn't you agree, Derek?"

He paused for a moment, looking at Erica, then said, "Stilinski, you told me you loved my sister, didn't you?" Which was exactly the kind of sideways approach that Derek would take to it. 

So Stiles and Erica leaned in and kissed, quick on the lips.

"There," Derek said, nodding his approval. Then he abruptly stood and went into his room, emerging with a handkerchief in one hand. Without ceremony, he lifted Lydia's hand, put a ring on it, and when she looked up, kissed her quickly. 

"Well," Lydia said, holding up her hand. 

"It's an emerald," he said as he sat. "Belonged to our grandmother. Ma thought it would go nice with your hair." He looked at her. "She's right."

"She is. I love green," Lydia said, reaching across the table to take Erica's hand. 

"I suppose now we're all engaged people," Erica said.

"I suppose so," Stiles said, and felt oddly surprised by this. He'd been so focused on the plan, on the hiding, that he hadn't really thought all the way through what they were hiding _behind_. He'd thought of marrying Erica and practically marrying Derek, and how they were all interlaced together, and how proper they'd look to outsiders. But what all this meant to _him_ , in a romantic way? He looked at Derek, and his heart came up in his throat.

"What?" Derek asked.

"Can't get rid of me now," Stiles said, trying to smile though he felt shaky all over.

"Good thing I'll never want to," Derek replied.

* * *

On Independence Day, Stiles stood in the stands with Erica and Lydia and they all cheered David, Jonathan, and Derek on to victory in the buggy race, which had a very nice five dollar prize. 

"Someday soon," Derek said to Erica, "that'll be you, and your team."

"I can't race with a corset on," Erica said.

Lydia looked at her, considering. "We can work something out," she said.

"Definitely," Stiles added, and he got that same little thrill up his spine that he'd had the day they got engaged, the thrill of a future where the four of them were together, where he had Derek and Lydia and Erica had each other. They could do this. He was good at plans.

* * *

It was coming on for midnight and Stiles was riding the Duchess, not just because she was black, but also because they'd bonded since going out to find Derek and Scott after that spring blizzard, so he knew that if he told her to stay quiet, she'd stay quiet. A dark, quiet, fast and sure-footed horse was important when a person was on a spy mission.

He pulled up at the back of the Argent place, grateful for the noisy distraction of a fight at the Jungle Saloon. Allison popped her head out of the window, and Stiles doffed the dark wide-brimmed hat he'd borrowed from Derek and looked up at her. 

"Thank goodness," she whispered. Then, seeing that Stiles was ready, she tossed down a large bundle. "Take care of those."

"Don't you trust me?" he said with a grin. He secured the bundle to the saddle, then pulled the hat back on, low over his face. "All right, Duchess, let's go home."

Duchess walked slowly and quietly down the alley behind Main Street, but once she hit the road that led north out of town she broke into a full gallop toward the Hale claim. Boyd was in the stable caring for his own horse when Stiles rode up.

"Did I get the timing right?" he asked, grinning.

"Perfect," Stiles replied. "Looks like you made it out unscathed."

Boyd shrugged. "Those two fellas have been itching for a fight for weeks now," he said. "All it took was a whisper in each of their ears and they were at it, and I was out of there right quick."

Stiles shook his head. "How'd my father react?"

"He just sighed. I think he decided to let them have it out since they'd got themselves going. He encouraged them outside so they wouldn't break anything or get any other fellows involved."

"That's what they pay him for," Stiles said, unfastening the bundle Allison had thrown to him and leading the Duchess to her stall.

Inside the house, Lydia was busily sewing on the skirt of a dress, while Erica and Scott were packing various things into a trunk. 

"You got them?" Scott asked.

"Yep," Stiles replied, putting the bundle on the table, "and no, no one saw us, thanks to Boyd here." 

Scott opened the bundle, checking that all of Allison's bows and arrows were inside. "You're sure we can do this?" he asked.

"We got all this out, didn't we?" Stiles said, pointing to the trunk they'd snuck out of Allison's room the day before when Mr. Argent was manning the store, covering it with hay in the back of Derek's wagon, and the personal items that Allison had been taking up to Lydia's house when she was supposedly sewing her college wardrobe. She'd already packed her favorite dresses in the bottom of the trunk, and now the bundle of bows and arrows were carefully placed in the lid of the trunk, cushioned by muslin. Some additional clothing of Scott's had also been packed into the trunk. "Is that nearly done?"

"I'm just finishing the embroidery," she said. Lydia held up the buckskin dress that Allison was bringing as her first costume. It was modeled after Erica's saloon girl dress, though it was more modest with a slightly higher collar and longer sleeves. The laced-in nature of the dress meant that Allison could go without a corset, and the shorter skirt allowed for even more freedom of movement. "Now, can we go over tomorrow again?" 

"All right," Stiles said. "Here's the plan."

* * *

Stiles had started calling Mrs. McCall "Ma" almost immediately after Papa gave him the news of their engagement. Mama would always be Mama, but it felt right to call Mrs. McCall Ma; maybe she'd always been Ma in the back of his mind. The four of them in Scott's buggy, all together, to bring Scott to his wedding day felt right, too.

Though, by the time they got to the mission the next morning, Scott was approaching advanced levels of nerves. Stiles had never seen him like this.

Papa and Ma went to talk to Father James while Stiles steered Scott into one of the anterooms. "Be still," he said.

"Be still?" Scott asked. "You be still! You're practically vibrating!"

"Because everything is going to plan and it is _brilliant_!" Stiles replied. "You let me worry about all of this, and you just get yourself married."

Scott sighed, frowning.

Thankfully Derek and Boyd came into the room. "Did you do it?" Scott asked.

"Of course they did," Stiles said, smiling and patting Scott's shoulder. He turned to Derek. "You did, didn't you?"

Derek rolled his eyes. "The trunk is safe and sound at the depot," he said, "and they're expecting you for the four o'clock train."

Scott relaxed, just a bit. "Thanks," he said.

"See?" Stiles said. "Nothing to be worried about."

"Other than her father, you mean," Scott replied.

"Other than that, yes," Stiles said.

Erica knocked on the door a few minutes later. "The bride is ready," she said.

The wedding, at least, went off without a hitch. Standing next to Scott and watching first Lydia, then Allison and her father come up the short aisle, he was reminded of another life he'd wanted not so long ago. Allison and Scott radiated happiness, and Stiles hoped it meant that the later events of the day didn't weigh on their minds or distract them from what was important. Walking Lydia out, he winked at Derek and Erica, because he knew that it would make them laugh as it had at Boyd and Laura's wedding.

Ma had had Scott, Stiles, and Papa making tamales since sunup, which was why Stiles couldn't help with any of the more nefarious preparations, and the small bundles of masa and corn husks had been steaming in the rectory kitchen during the ceremony. There were other dishes too, familiar to Stiles from the many meals he'd eaten in Ma's kitchen over the years—rice and beans, spicy stewed beef, several sauces—that had been brought by the other Mexican ladies in the parish. And instead of a big white cake, there were nutty little cookies rolled in powdered sugar. Stiles didn't want to get married at the mission himself, mostly because he wanted to have a double ceremony with Derek and Lydia, all of them married at once, and three of them converting seemed a bit much. But even if he was walking away from his mother's faith, the banquet convinced him that he absolutely had to make his own mother's food. Continuity was important.

As they left for the depot, Stiles whispered to Scott, "You have the envelope?"

"Right here," he said, patting his inside jacket pocket. 

Allison had changed from her wedding dress into a traveling suit, and Scott was carrying both of their satchels as they boarded the train. Stiles snuck away to make sure their trunk was in the luggage compartment, safe and sound.

"Well," Mr. Argent was saying when Stiles walked back to the little gathering, "I suppose I'll see you in a week."

Allison shook her head. "I'm sorry, Pa," she said. "I'm not coming back in a week."

"What?" he asked. "What are you saying?" He turned to Scott. "What is she saying?"

Scott just nodded in Allison's direction.

"Remember, you and Ma said you wanted me to see the world?" she asked him. "Well, I'm going to." She reached into her purse and pulled out a handbill for the Wild West Show, and gave it to Mr. Argent.

"I don't understand," he said. "I thought we discussed this."

"You talked," Allison said, "but you didn't listen. I want to do this. I want to go. I auditioned for Mr. Cody when I was in San Francisco and he's putting me in his show."

"But college—"

"Will still be there," Allison said. "But right now I have a contract with Mr. Cody—"

"Who no doubt cheated you," Mr. Argent said.

"I had Stiles act as my agent. He was very good—made several demands I wouldn't even have thought of. And Mr. Cody acquiesced to all of them."

Mr. Argent humphed. 

"I want to travel while I'm young." She pulled Scott closer. "While _we're_ young."

"And you, will you just be living off my daughter?" Mr. Argent asked him.

"I have a job of my own with the show," Scott said. "Taking care of the animals, and Allison if she needs me. Though, she takes care of herself pretty well." He looked at her smiling. "And that's thanks to you, Mr. Argent."

"Me?" he asked.

"You trained her. You encouraged her talent. Other fathers might have stopped her, for being unladylike, but you didn't. And you raised her to be independent."

"I would have left for college in a month's time anyway, Pa," she said.

"But you'd have come back!" he said.

"I still will! This isn't forever; it can't be. After, well, we'll see."

Mr. Argent scowled. "I _never_ should have let you marry this boy!" he said.

"If you hadn't," Allison said, her voice as firm as his, "we would have eloped, and you would have found all of this out in a letter. You wouldn't have seen us marry." She put a hand on his arm. "Isn't it better this way?"

"What about your college money?" he asked. "Think they'll just send it back to me when you fail to arrive?"

"It's right here, Mr. Argent," Scott said, taking an envelope out of his pocket. "You'd asked me to wire it to the college and instead I put it under my bed."

Mr. Argent took the envelope. "You really have this all thought out, don't you?" he asked. 

She nodded, and they all stood silently, waiting for what Mr. Argent would do. Then his shoulders relaxed, and Stiles knew they had him. Allison seemed to know, too, because she slid her hand from his arm up to his shoulder and squeezed lightly.

He sighed. "You have your bows?"

"My trunk is on the train," Allison replied. 

He nodded. "I'm not happy about this, Allison."

She smiled and hugged him. "I love you, Pa," she said, kissing him on the cheek. "I'll write as soon as we get to Kansas City."

"You'd better," he said. Then, to Scott: "You take care of her."

"I just promised to do that forever, sir," Scott said, and shook Mr. Argent's hand.

"Well," Mr. Argent said. "All right, go."

There was a lot of hugging and handshaking then. Stiles was glad that he and Scott weren't too old to properly hug, or at least, didn't care if they were. And they were soon to be real brothers, after all.

Stiles was heading back to Beacon with Lydia and Erica in Derek's buggy. Lydia had started crying at the train depot and showed no signs of stopping; she and Erica were in the back so she could huddle in Erica's arms. Stiles couldn't blame her; at least he'd had the plans to distract him from the idea that he and Scott wouldn't be living out of each other's pockets ever again. It was sobering, like a signpost that said, "Your childhood ends here."

"Are _you_ all right?" Derek asked him.

"I'm leaving in a month, anyways," Stiles said. "Now that we've seen Scott off, I have more time to have sex with you."

Derek rolled his eyes, but he was chuckling. Lydia, however, smacked him in the back of the head.

"I'm just looking for the silver lining!" Stiles protested. "We saw them off to their adventure, happy and healthy. We'll all get letters. In September we'll be at college. I think things are working out pretty well for all of us, don't you?"

"I suppose," Lydia said. "But I want that without having to say good-bye to anyone! I want it all!"

"That's nothing new," Derek muttered, and got his own cuff to the head from his sister.

"Be nice to her," Erica said. "She's sad."

Stiles said, "All right, how about, when we get home I'll make us some tomato salad and some strawberries and cream, and maybe some biscuits?"

"Okay," Lydia said, still sounding a little watery. "Thanks."

When Stiles looked back at Derek, he was smiling, and Derek didn't just smile over tomatoes. "What?" Stiles asked.

"You said 'home,'" he said. "You said home when you meant my house."

"Huh," Stiles said. "I did, didn't I?"

"Yeah," Derek said. "You did."

* * *

A week before he was due to leave Beacon for San Francisco and college, Stiles went out to the Hale place. He had been staying overnight off and on all summer, as now that Papa and Ma were setting up house he liked to leave them be. Papa didn't say much about Stiles spending the night in the same house where Erica lived, which he supposed was because they were engaged, and because Papa had never really been one to stand on propriety.

(The Martins were, though, so more often than not Erica took Lydia home after supper, and stayed overnight there, particularly now that the Martins stayed in town much of the time.)

On this particular day, Stiles had a plan—one final plan for the summer, before they were separated until at least Christmas. Stiles was trying not to think about that, to focus on his new life in college and all the stories he'd have to tell in his letters home to Derek.

He walked into the house and Derek was at the table eating breakfast, which as neither Stiles nor Lydia nor even Erica was around to cook for him consisted of a leftover biscuit and a piece of cheese. Stiles reached into his satchel for a jar, which he set down on the table.

Derek, in mid chew, raised his eyebrows, then took up the jar. "Vaseline?" he asked. "You have a cut?"

"No," Stiles replied. "I just, I wanted to do everything in the book, and the thing we haven't done, Erica says you need Vaseline for." He set his satchel and hat on a nearby chair.

"And she knows this from?"

"The saloon girls. Who else?" Stiles replied. "Apparently some men liked to do it to them, too. Avoid babies and all that."

"Huh," Derek said. "So you want to sodomize me? You want me to sodomize you?"

Stiles blinked, because he'd never heard those words said aloud, and hearing Derek say them so casually gave him a little thrill. "Either. Or, both, actually."

"At the same time?" Derek asked, smirking. "Because I don't think that's physically possible."

"No," Stiles said. "Both before I go."

"Why?"

"Because I want to remember it," Stiles said, walking over to sit in Derek's lap. "Because I want to be able to think about it when I'm alone in my bed in San Francisco. Because I want to be able to write you letters about how I'm thinking about it when I'm alone in my bed in San Francisco."

Derek put his hands around Stiles's waist, his breakfast abandoned. "You're gonna be the death of me," Derek said, but he didn't sound all that unhappy about it.

"The life of you, you mean," Stiles said, mostly to be contrary, but also because he didn't like to think about Derek and death. He wrapped his arms around Derek's neck. "You want to?" he asked, trying to look appealing.

"You know I do," Derek replied, pulling him closer, so close that their lips nearly touched.

"Who goes first?"

"I don't care."

"We can flip a coin."

"Draw straws."

"Which is the short straw?"

"Neither," Derek said, and kissed him. Then, "We'll need to get clean first, though. Remember—"

"I remember," Stiles said, and got up, because he was likely to never forget that … incident. "I'll take the pail out."

"I'll get out the tub and the soap," Derek said.

When Stiles returned from the well with water, Derek had already stripped down. Stiles was still trying to get used to Derek's casual nudity when they were alone; he suspected that Derek would be nude all the time in the house if he wasn't worried about someone coming by or Lydia telling him to cover his bits. But even though it was a commonplace sight, his body was still beautiful to Stiles, like a Greek statue only with a good deal more hair.

"Leave it cold," Derek said. "It's so hot already; it'll feel nice."

Stiles poured the pail into the tub, where it filled to about three inches deep. He disrobed while Derek stepped into the water, getting a washcloth wet and soaped up. Derek ran it cursorily over his upper body and legs, then concentrated between his legs, scrubbing himself well. Stiles just stood there, transfixed, clothes in a pile at his feet; he could feel his prick reacting to the sight before him.

Derek turned to him, casual, as if it was nothing. "I got you one, too," he said, indicating another cloth draped over the side of the tub. 

Stiles took it up, wet it, got soap on it. "We can't both—"

"You go," Derek said, rinsing himself quickly and then stepping out of the tub. "And I can just watch you now."

He was rolling his eyes as he got into the tub; him staring at Derek and Derek staring at him were not the same thing in any way. Stiles didn't even understand why Derek liked to stare at him, other than that they weren't going to be together for a few months and he wanted to remember.

Derek was right about the cool water feeling good against his skin, especially between his legs. After he got out Derek handed him a towel, wrapping his own around his waist so he could empty the tub out the back door. Stiles dried off and grabbed the Vaseline on his way into the bedroom. 

"So," Stiles said, sitting down on the mattress.

"So," Derek replied, walking in behind him, "I've been thinking that I should go first. On the receiving end, I mean." He let the towel fall to the floor and hey, Stiles was apparently having an effect on him, too.

Stiles cleared his throat. "Reason?" he asked.

"You become sleepy after you've spent," Derek said. 

"This is so." Stiles knelt up, making room for Derek to kneel on the bed, and scooped some Vaseline out of the jar with two fingers. This much they'd done before, but just with spit and sometimes their spending. Stiles slipped a finger into Derek and with the Vaseline it felt different, all slick and slippery; still tight, but easier. "All right?"

"Yeah," Derek said, and breathed out, slow and a little shaky, when Stiles slid in another finger. "I guess we have to—"

"Stretch it, that's what Erica said," Stiles replied. "The girls said it could hurt if you don't."

"That's what I would have reckoned," Derek replied, and didn't sound unhappy at the prospect.

Stiles spread his fingers apart carefully. Derek was up on all fours, head down, pushing his behind out to Stiles, and gosh, he was pretty. He'd said he wanted it, and so Stiles stretched him, hoped it felt good, became less worried about how to get his prick inside. Stiles put his clean hand against the small of Derek's back and Derek pushed into that, too. 

"Put some on your prick, too," Derek said, and Stiles was surprised to hear how breathless he sounded already. 

"I will," Stiles replied. "Concentrating on one thing at a time."

Derek nodded and dropped down onto his elbows. 

"You like it?" Stiles asked.

"Mmm," Derek said, pushing back again, unashamed. "Like it a lot."

"More fingers?"

Derek turned his head and looked first at Stiles's prick, then up to his eyes. "That's bigger than two fingers," he said.

Stiles used more Vaseline, and got another finger in. He was rewarded with a groan from Derek, and could feel the muscles relax.

"That's it," Stiles said. "Like your throat when you take my prick into your mouth."

"Mmm," Derek said, panting a bit. He was resting his forehead on his hands now, weaving slightly as Stiles pushed in and out. Stiles remembered there was a spot that felt good, and he tried to find it again. The angle was different—they'd done this before laying on top of each other or on their backs, not like this. 

"Oh," Derek said suddenly. "That's—"

"The good spot?" Stiles asked. 

"Yeah, damn," Derek said, swearing. "You should do it now."

"Now?" Stiles asked.

"Yeah, I want it now," Derek said. "Want to spend with you inside me."

Stiles pulled his hand out of Derek, but before he wiped it on the towel he said, "Look at me."

Derek did, and Stiles had thought he just wanted to see his face, confirm his state of mind, that he actually was ready. But Derek's eyes were like fire on him, burning him, which was the only explanation he could think of for why he did something so bold in that moment as to rub his Vaseline-covered fingers on his prick. Derek's eyes fell to the movement, and as he watched Stiles slick himself up he bit his lower lip.

"You want it," Stiles said.

"Yeah," Derek said. "Want _you_."

Stiles wiped his hand off quickly, then leaned in for a kiss, needing that bit of contact again. "All right," he said.

Derek nodded, and watched as Stiles stood behind him, lined up his prick. Stiles pressed in, slow and easy, and Derek was still nodding. "Yeah," he said.

The channel was slick, but tight and so hot, hotter on his prick than it had been on his fingers. He pushed on, past where his fingers had gone, gripping Derek's hips for balance and to help him maintain that slow steady pace. Derek was quiet, calm, relaxing under him. When he was fully seated, he checked and Derek was still with him, still watching.

"Still all right?" Stiles asked.

"Yeah," Derek said. "You going to—"

"Yeah," Stiles said, and pulled out a little, testing, a few slow in and out thrusts. Derek moved with him, pushing back as he pushed in, so he went a little faster, and faster yet again. It was so hot in the room, and hard for him to catch a breath. Sweat trickled along his temple and he could see it across Derek's back and neck. But he couldn't stop, wouldn't stop, almost shouldn't stop as Derek was moaning and humming beneath him. Everything was hot and slick and wet and so, so tight, and he was glad Derek was enjoying it because he certainly was, hadn't even finished and couldn't wait to do it again.

"Bugger me," Derek said. "You're buggering me." 

Those naughty words sent a thrill through Stiles, that they were doing something they oughtn't, and yet it felt so very good, and he felt so much love for Derek that how could it _actually_ be bad? "Yeah, I'm buggering you," Stiles said. "I'm—I'm fucking you."

"Yeah," Derek said. "Please, need you to touch me." 

Stiles reached down to find Derek's prick quite full and leaking. At Stiles's touch, he clenched, making his passage tighter, which was all to the good.

"This is going to be quick," Stiles said, doing his best to make Derek spend first. And he did, spending all over Stiles's fingers, wet and hot. Then Stiles thrust harder and faster until he had spent deep inside Derek, and all but collapsed atop him.

Derek rolled onto his side, knocking Stiles off his feet and onto the bed, and Stiles's spent cock slipped from Derek's now-loose channel. They were both panting, as though they had run a race.

"Well," Derek said. "You were right."

"Always," Stiles said. "About what?"

"Doing that before you left," Derek said.

"Other way next?"

Derek scowled. "Let a man _rest_ , Stiles," he said.

Stiles smiled at him, feeling no sting at all, but at peace with everything—Derek, the world outside, the horses, the prairie animals, all of it. "I love you," he said.

"I love you, too," Derek replied, "and if you are kind and kiss me sweetly and are patient, when I'm hard again, I'll show you how good that felt."

"I can do that," Stiles said, smiling, and immediately set to the task assigned him.


	19. (Derek)

Three days before Christmas, Derek and Erica stood in the Beacon train depot, staying out of the cold until the last possible moment. Derek was grateful that both the sheriff and the Martins had decided not to meet their newly returned children at the station, even if it made him feel a little bashful to know they were giving the "young lovers" some privacy. He wasn't entirely sure that, seeing Stiles after four months of letters, he'd be able to entirely close his expression, at least to anyone who might know him.

Erica was standing next to him quivering with excitement, which wasn't especially ladylike but neither of them much cared. Derek loved all his siblings, but he and Erica had become a unit over the months since—well, he called it "since it all happened," which Stiles poked fun at, but when called upon he could come up with no better term for it. Derek's entire life had been upended back in April and he was fairly sure his feet still had yet to touch the ground. Maybe never would.

He thought the engine in the distance was his imagination, but then he heard a whistle. Erica rubbed the frosty window clean and there was the train, small and black against the setting sun. Behind them, Finstock put on his coat and hat and went out to the trestle.

Erica grabbed Derek's hand. He took a deep breath.

"Don't be nervous," she said. "They're the same people."

"Stiles isn't the same person two days running."

"He's the same person who's been writing you those fat letters for months," she said. "It'll be fine."

They waited until the train was slowing down to come out into the cold of the open platform. Once they spotted that tell-tale flash of red hair there was much joyful waving. Derek felt too impatient for someone to come with the steps, so he simply reached into the train and took Lydia by the waist, setting her down next to Erica.

"I'd forgotten your aversion to stairs," Stiles said, laughing, and it was so good to see him that Derek could scarcely breathe, certainly couldn't speak. He took the two satchels from Stiles and then put out an arm to help him down. He quickly realized his mistake when he didn't want to let him go.

Lydia talked a mile a minute as they headed back into the depot to warm up, Stiles adding details to her tale of their last days at school, mostly exam taking and paper writing. Erica asked questions, enthused generally, but Derek couldn't even focus on the words, could only stare.

"Don't you have anything to say?" Stiles asked him, grinning.

"I—I can't believe you're here," he replied.

"Where else would I be?" Stiles asked. "Everyone I love is here." Stiles gave him a look, and Derek had to clench his fists to keep from pulling him close.

"Speaking of which," Erica said, "Scott and Allison arrived yesterday and I'm sure they're anxious to see you both."

"Yes," Derek said, feeling like he could speak now that they were back on safe ground, "let's stop being selfish and get you home."

The four of them stopped at the Stilinski place first, where not just the sheriff but also the McCalls were waiting. After much handshaking and hugging they all promised to return that evening after dinner for coffee and pie, as there wouldn't be a Literary so close to the holiday. Erica stayed, while Allison put on her wraps to accompany Lydia and Derek to the Martin hotel.

"Is it my imagination," Allison said as they walked, "or does Stiles seem thinner?"

Derek blinked. He'd been so overwhelmed with Stiles's mere presence that it hadn't registered, but his eyes had seemed a bit larger in his face, his cheekbones sharper, his shoulder blades more prominent when Derek had put a hand on his back to help him off the train.

"He's been working so hard," Lydia said. "His classes, but he also joined the newspaper and he ran the freshman campaign in the competition against the sophs. The freshers hadn't won in ten years."

Derek couldn't help but grin, proud that Stiles's deviousness had found a legal and respectable outlet. "My understanding from Stiles is that you were a great help in that campaign, Lydia," he said.

"Of course," she said.

"And you're at the top of all the classes Stiles isn't," Derek continued. "Yet, you're all right." He paused, looking at her. "Aren't you?"

Lydia bit her lip. "You must promise _not_ to tell my parents."

They stepped into the large doorway of the drug store, to shelter themselves from the wind. Allison put one hand on Lydia's shoulder. "What haven't you told us?" she asked. "Does Erica know?"

"No," Derek said before Lydia could speak, "because if anything truly important had happened I know she would have told me."

"I'll tell her," Lydia said. "And I'll let Stiles tell this story tonight, but—" She paused, visibly gathered herself, then continued. "Some of the so-called gentlemen are not entirely pleased to be bested at their studies by a lady, particularly in mathematics and natural science. And with my participation in the competition, there were some ... incidents."

Derek leaned in closer, putting his hand on Lydia's other arm. 

"See, that there!" she said, looking at Derek. "That's what Stiles and I hoped to avoid. There were incidents, I handled them. If I had any trouble, Stiles was there to help. We were _fine_. But if my parents find out, they won't allow me to go back and I have to go back, Derek." 

Derek worked his jaw, trying to calm down and choose his words before he spoke. He certainly understood why Laura had attended a women's college. "Of course you have to return," he said. "Hales don't back down from a fight, and you'll be a Hale soon enough."

"Neither do Martins. Or at least, this one."

"But neither of you should have to bother with that," Allison said. "There's plenty of folks think a lady can't be handy with a bow, but Mr. Cody keeps them away. And Scott, of course."

Derek nodded, but he also noticed how red Lydia's cheeks were becoming. "Here, let's get inside. We'll leave this for tonight."

"Don't worry," Allison said. "We won't say a word."

The Martins were all gracious hospitality as usual, insisting that Derek stay for supper. And while he'd always found the Martins a bit formal, especially for a prairie town, it wasn't until that night that he realized how very cold they could be. To be sure, they were clearly proud of their daughter and pleased to see her again. And perhaps no welcome would benefit from comparison to the one Stiles received from his father, future stepmother, and best friend upon _his_ return. (After all, they _were_ Catholic, and allowances must be made.) But when Derek thought back to the Christmases and summers when Laura and his brother Tom came home from school, he felt the difference. 

And if he was more solicitous to Lydia, a bit more demonstrative with his affections than usual, well, that was all to the good.

* * *

Laura and Boyd were invited to the impromptu after-dinner gathering as well, so of course Laura insisted on whipping up a quick brown betty with some bread and leftover stewed fruit from her holiday cake-making because she couldn't go to the Stilinskis' empty-handed. It was a homey little party, everyone talking and laughing and just glad to be back in each other's presence. Allison and Scott were full of tales of the big industrial cities east of the Mississippi, where most folks had never seen a buffalo and the smoke from the factories hung low in the air, especially in the steel towns where men literally worked around the clock because the giant furnace could not be allowed to go out.

Stiles nodded, and they remembered that he'd lived it. "These robber barons, they don't care about human life," he said. "The Negro and the serf are free, but now we're making all the people into wage slaves. Farm life is tough, but we have sun and fresh air and how hard you work is your own look-out. But the factory men and the women who bring home piece work and the children in the mines—it's a shame, is what it is." He paused. "Sorry. I promised Papa no political talk tonight, and here I am."

Lydia leaned forward. "We saw William Jennings Bryant speak, back in October. Electrifying."

"Wish I'd been there," Boyd said. "The Grange is getting more political and I say it's high time, with the money men in the east betting on wheat prices like it was a horse race and not a man's entire year's work. Cattle, too. Damn hard to escape it, but at least we can sit on our land and raise what we need, sell what we don't, and get by just fine. And we have Laura's earnings that we're saving up for a rainy day. We're luckier than most."

"Certainly fired you two up," the sheriff said. "My son, the radical. Well, at least we have the paper proving that you were born in Chicago, U.S.A., so whatever you might get up to they can't send you away."

"Progressive, Papa," Stiles said. "I've met radicals at school. As Boyd says, there's plenty of progressives out here on the prairies, too. Anyways, I say, it makes what you're doing even more important, Allison, that you can give these folks a night of entertainment."

"They certainly seem glad of it," she said. "A dime a person and twenty-five cents gets in a whole family. And the little girls—when they see me, don't their eyes go wide! I sign their autograph books and some of them even have my picture postcards!"

Stiles's eyes narrowed, but before he could speak Scott said, "Yes, we're being compensated for them."

Derek couldn't help but laugh then, at the way they anticipated each other. 

"What's so amusing?" Lydia asked. 

Derek waved his hand between Scott and Stiles. "The wedding can't make these two brothers any more than they already are," he said.

"We do appreciate your coming out to the mission for it," Mrs. McCall said. "Interrupting your Christmas and all."

"I'd say it extends it," Erica replied, and Derek nodded in agreement. Now that Stiles was back he felt greedy, wanting to spend every second with the man that he possibly could; he was a little jealous of Erica, of Scott, even of the sheriff. 

But maybe Stiles felt the same, as when they were all getting ready to leave he pulled Derek aside. "Tomorrow night is Saturday, so Papa will be over at the saloon. You and Erica and Lydia should come for dinner."

Derek raised his eyebrows. "Scott and Allison?"

"Having dinner at the McCall place with Mr. Argent," Stiles said, making a face. "Trying to mend some fences there."

"No chaperones?" Derek asked. "Won't people talk?"

"We're engaged people. What can they say?" He leaned in closer and whispered, "And there wouldn't be any too-early babies coming to give us away, at least."'

Derek pulled back, and must have looked as stunned at Stiles's bluntness as he felt, for Stiles just laughed. 

"Anyways, it will be good to cook again, and Lydia will probably be glad of an excuse to get away from her parents."

He looked over at Lydia, who was talking to Allison, and then back to Stiles. "Yes," he replied, "I think she will."

* * *

Saturday afternoon was blank and dull. Lydia was visiting with Allison, he knew, and Scott with Stiles, which left he and Erica alone as they'd been all fall. Derek was reading another of those Austen novels, this time _Mansfield Park_ , only he was finding it not to his tastes. He knew he'd grown up in a relatively liberal family, but honestly, were folks so fired up about amateur theatrics seventy-five years ago? Perhaps he'd put a query about that in the next letter to Pap.

"You think it would cause a scandal if we went to the saloon?" Erica asked. "Seeing as I'm an engaged person?" 

Derek looked over his book at her. "Yes," he replied. "But the weather's clear. Let's go for a sleigh-ride. The colts need some exercise anyway."

Once they were out, she said, "Stiles is working awfully hard, isn't he? He's so pale. I don't think he's been getting that fresh air he was talking of last night."

"No," Derek said. "And apparently Lydia is having a harder time than she let on, too, with the fellas out there."

Erica was scowling. "That's what Stiles said. Makes me want to sock them right across the jaw."

"Me, too," Derek admitted. "I've been trying to think of what we can do, but there isn't much from this far away."

"Why don't we go there?" Erica asked. "Horse ranches in California, same as here, or that's what Cora says."

"True," he said, and felt a weird sort of relief, that Erica had read his mind, felt as he did about wanting to get closer to their sweethearts. "Haven't proved up on the claim yet."

"No, but this team are nearly ready to sell, and we could get another team to train and sell before the spring," she replied. "After last year, we're getting a reputation for runaway teams."

"I suppose we are," he said. 

"That's two hundred dollars right there. Plus I still have fifty from last year's colts, being that we got Ruth so cheap."

Ruth was Erica's first horse, a filly they'd bought in Oklahoma during their trip in the fall. Or at least, they'd _said_ it was a trip to buy a horse, but everyone knew that it was a necessary break, a distraction from missing Lydia and Stiles. Not for the first time, Derek was grateful for their ruse; they got all the sympathy that was due them, even if their well-wishers were slightly mistaken.

"Two hundred fifty dollars ought to get us something," she said. "Not to mention the house out on the claim."

Derek hummed. "I'll write to Cora," he said. 

"I already did," Erica said, and at Derek's look she continued, "I just miss them, is all. Miss them both. It's only been a few months and—I can't have four years of this, Derek. I know Laura is family, and I'll miss her and Boyd, but—"

"It's not the same," Derek said. 

"No. Cora thinks we can get a nice place, smaller than here but big enough, for three hundred. Maybe a little more if we're closer to the city."

"All right," Derek said. "Let me think on it. Can't go until spring, anyhow. Plenty of time to sit on it."

"All right," Erica replied, but she had that little determined edge to her voice, as when she hadn't wanted to go to school, and Derek knew he'd have to come up with quite an argument to do anything else.

* * *

Later, he saw the sheriff at Argent's General Store. 

"Understand my son's making dinner for you three tonight," he said.

"Yes, sir."

The sheriff nodded. "Here, walk with me to the saloon, would you?" he asked.

"Of course," Derek replied, though he couldn't think what the sheriff would need to discuss with _him_.

Once they arrived, the man behind the bar poured out two glasses of sarsaparilla—professional courtesy, Derek supposed—and they sat at a table in a hidden corner that provided a good view of the room. Derek wondered how Boyd had been able to start that ruckus back in the spring without the sheriff noticing.

"So, Hale, I need to ask you for a favor."

Derek blinked; he couldn't imagine what he could do for the sheriff. "Whatever you need, sir," he said.

"Not for me," he said. "For my son. I'm sure you've noticed the change in his appearance."

"I have," Derek said.

"And, well, he's an adult now, as he reminds me, and I suppose that really the responsibility for him has transferred to you, now."

"To me?"

The sheriff cocked his head, the hint of a smile on his face, and looked so much like Stiles when he was scheming that it made Derek a bit uncomfortable. "Stiles likes to forget I was once a detective," he said. "Or that I know anything about young people in love. I've said nothing, because all of you have been so very careful, and I thought Stiles might tell me in his own time. But now. Well, a father worries, yes? I am worried."

Derek wasn't sure what to say; he felt as though the earth had been turned upside down. Perhaps it would be best just to deal with the matter at hand. "Erica and I have been talking about pulling up stakes and moving to California. We have a sister out there—my younger sister Cora married young; she and her husband have an orchard. We need to save a bit more money but—"

The sheriff waved his hand. "The tree claim proved up three months ago," he said. "I can get a good price for it, and Stiles did all the work on it, so I always meant to give him a good half of the money now, anyhow. We have plenty saved for his four years at college."

"But you and Mrs. McCall—"

"We have her claim," he said, "and we figured we'd probably move by and by. Closer to wherever the boys settle, since I can't imagine them being apart for very long."

"Neither can I," Derek said. 

"Two claims and two houses for two old folks is too much," the sheriff said. "Take the money now. And don't be surprised if we end up not far from you, once Scott and Allison are finished going around the world. More missions in California, after all."

"I think we'd all be real pleased to have you nearby," Derek said. 

The sheriff lifted an eyebrow at this. "I'll remember you said that. I admit, you aren't what I ever would have pictured for my child. It will not be easy for any of you, even with these marriages."

"I know, sir," Derek replied. "We're as ready for that as we can be."

"That, I believe," he said, nodding. "Well, you are a good man. I hope you enjoy Polish food."

"If you mean Stiles's cooking," he replied, "very much so, sir."

"Good," the sheriff said, satisfied. "That's good, then."

Derek walked home in a daze, not entirely sure that any of that had actually occurred. He went straight to the stable, figuring Erica would be there, and he was right.

"We're going to California," he said, firmly, and went back into the house without waiting for her reaction.

Not that he couldn't hear her shouting from the house, anyways.

* * *

The sheriff's wedding to Mrs. McCall was a small, quiet affair. They took the train to the mission, where Father James and some of their other friends from the parish that Derek remembered from Scott and Allison's wedding were also in attendance. The church was decorated for the Christmas season; Stiles had explained to Derek that they observed those old-world Twelfth Night customs, keeping the Christmas holiday until Epiphany. Derek had originally thought it was awfully kind of them to include him and Lydia in the proceedings, but now he knew that the sheriff considered all of them family. Derek thought he did, too, and wondered that all of these people he had known for less than two years had become so important to him. 

"Just think," Stiles said. "This will be us in a few years."

Derek had had every intention of having this plan as a surprise for Stiles and Lydia, but looking at him—well, if they were going to be spending a life together, then perhaps they should make decisions together, too.

"Maybe sooner," he said. 

Stiles looked at him, quizzically.

"Come with me," Derek said, leading him away from the revelry. He caught Erica's eye—she was talking to Lydia—and nodded to a passageway to the courtyard. 

When they were all there, Derek turned to Erica and said, "I think we should tell them."

"Tell us what?" Lydia asked. 

Erica nodded. "Derek and I want to move out to California," she said. "There's plenty of ranch land, and maybe we can even find something close enough that you could be there on the weekends. Might make it easier on you, to have more time to rest."

Derek could see in Stiles's eyes that he wanted to fight, that his instinct was to insist they were getting along. Even Lydia was looking stubborn. So he headed them off. "Don't tell us you're fine," Derek said. "You're not. And to be honest? We're not, either."

"Laura calls us the glum chums," Erica said. "And in winter, there isn't even much work to distract us. We came back from the horse buying trip and Christmas was all there was to look forward to. I want more than that."

"But your claim," Stiles said. "No homesteads in California."

"We have some money saved, and we'll have more before the spring. Your Pa probably told you he wants to sell the tree claim."

"Land is wealth," Stiles said. 

"So buy some land with your share," Derek said. "Buy into the horse ranch."

"I have a dowry," Lydia said. "Money my grandmother left me. I'd like to buy my share as well."

"Stiles?" Derek asked.

"Don't build the house without me," he said.

Derek grinned. "Wouldn't dream of it," he replied.

* * *

It was Erica's idea to go out to California in February. They went first to San Francisco, of course, visiting with Stiles and Lydia for a few days around St. Valentine's Day. The college had a dance, at which Erica took Stiles's mind from his work by keeping him on the dance floor as much as possible.

Meanwhile, Derek did his best to seem intimidating and inscrutable and scare off the fellows who'd been giving Lydia such trouble. He had a sense of what Stiles had been dealing with, as a couple of the fellows were impudent even to _him_ , implying that any girl as smart and accomplished as Lydia couldn't truly get a man to marry her, however beautiful she was. 

"I don't know," Derek said, slowly. "I reckon I have ways to feel like a man other than being smarter than a lady. Plenty of others, to be honest. But then, I never needed to make other folks smaller to be big."

"Couldn't have said it better myself," Lydia added, holding his arm just a little tighter, and they watched with satisfaction as the fellows slinked away.

"On that note," Stiles said, "we could go home." Home meaning the boarding house, where the landlady had been kind enough to allow Stiles and Lydia's fiancees to stay, so long as the boys shared one room and the girls, the other. 

Erica grinned. "I think we've earned it," she said.

* * *

After sending inquiries over January to their horse-raising friends and whatever names Cora could give them, they heard about a man not far south of the city who was looking to sell but had been particular about the buyer. They made this their first stop, noting that it was only three and a half hours away from San Francisco by train.

"Hale?" the old man said. "I've heard of your Pa. You taking up the family business?"

"With my sister, here," Derek said, indicating Erica. 

"Well, let's take a look around the place," he said. "We're right up against the sea but the horses don't seem to mind that. Never had any of 'em try to get too near the drop off. Saves on fencing, I say."

"It's beautiful," Erica said, walking right over to the paddock. 

"Careful of that bay," the old man said. "He's an ornery one."

But it was still a horse, and Erica was still Erica, so it trotted over to the fence as if drawn to her, nosing her coat. She laughed, patting him. "He's all right," she called out. "Just finicky, I expect."

"Well, don't that beat all." The old man shook his head. "Skip never liked anyone but me and my wife. I buried her last year, sold most of the stock after that. My son's a lawyer up in the city, wants me to come live with them, and they do have a real nice place and a few kids not much younger than your sister there. I could be of use to them. But I couldn't find anyone to take in Skip except the glue factory, so I've been hanging on."

"And the mare?" Derek asked of the white horse just beyond.

The man looked up. "Ah, Princess," he said. "She's been with ol' Skip for years now. They're good breeding stock still, the two of them. Why're you smiling?"

"I have a mare, the Duchess, one of the first horses I ever owned," Derek said. "She foaled two springs back—Queenie, she's more Erica's horse. I suppose it was just a matter of time before we'd have a horse named Princess."

"Well," the man said. They stood silently in the ocean breeze, Derek almost holding his breath, hoping. Erica was still talking to Skip, though Princess's curiosity had finally gotten the better of her, and she was walking over to where Erica stood. The water beyond the drop off was dark blue, crashing against the shore, and went right out to the horizon. It was like a vast blue prairie—only on the other side was China.

"You're to be married, you say?" the man asked.

"Our fiancees are in the city, at college," he said. "That's why we're looking for something closer. Decided we don't want to wait so long."

"Never was much for long engagements," the man said. "I'll tell you what. You want Skip and Princess, I'll give you the whole kit and caboodle for four hundred."

Derek stared. "Four hundred?" he asked. The team alone was worth at least two-fifty, though perhaps not if no one would buy the difficult Skip. 

"You seem like fine young people trying to get ahead," he said. "I got a few lucky breaks when I was your age."

"Don't mind my brother," Erica said, having walked back up from the paddock. "He isn't used to having good luck."

The ranch wasn't quite as big as a claim, but it was plenty large enough for their needs. And the small house would do until he and Stiles could build a larger one. "I'd like to bring Mr. Stilinski and Miss Martin down from the city to see it—perhaps Saturday? But I can't see why we can't take it all off your hands."

Erica was grinning from ear to ear, and while Derek did want Stiles and Lydia to see the place before saying yes, he couldn't imagine that they wouldn't fall in love with it, too. Oh, Stiles might try to find a hidden problem that would explain the low price, and Lydia might fuss over the cottage they'd be starting out in, but he could see all of them here. It just felt right.

This was home.


	20. (Lydia)

When Lydia's class ended, late Friday morning, Stiles was waiting just outside the door.

"You have my satchel?" she asked.

He held it up.

"You have your satchel?"

"Yes," he said, holding that up. "And our lunch."

"And whatever work still needs doing?"

"Only this novel," he said, noting a book in his case.

"All right then," she said, nodding, and he followed her out of the building to the cab stand near the entrance to campus. 

From there a hansom cab took them to Union Station. They sat in their usual compartment, Lydia next to the window, and Stiles stowed their satchels overhead. 

The conductor came by to pick up their tickets and said, "Ah, it must be Friday," smiling down at them, and it was easy to smile back.

Once their journey was underway, they ate their lunch. Lydia started the problem set she'd just been assigned in her last class, Stiles opened his novel, and they sat on the bench, close and companionable, not unlike when they did their work in the sitting room back at the boarding house. Of course, Stiles inevitably fell asleep, mouth open, leaning against Lydia's shoulder. It was symbolic of the changes in her life that she'd found this less irritating and more endearing as the weeks went on. His slow, steady breathing was soothing, and at least he didn't snore.

Lydia, too, eventually abandoned her work for the scenery, watching the train move slowly through the small towns that dotted the California coast. She could tell time and distance by the landmarks; the large blue barn meant they were less than twenty minutes from home. That was her cue to wake Stiles so he could be less mush-mouthed and more alert by the time they arrived in Paxville.

Derek and Erica stood right near their compartment when they arrived, Erica beaming and Derek with that small, pleased expression that wasn't quite a smile. David and Jonathan pulled the buggy home, by now knowing the route well enough that Derek barely had to drive, and could listen to everyone telling of their week. They saw a few other townsfolk, but their time was precious and best spent alone, together, out on the ranch. Derek had hung a little sign marking the turnoff from the main road to their place, and it was really when Lydia saw that sign that she felt she was home.

(Months before, when the paperwork was finalized and the deed in their hands, Stiles said, "I think we should call it 'The Dels.' You know, after each of us since we all own it." 

"But it isn't in a dell," Lydia replied. "It's on a crest overlooking the ocean."

"Well, it's better than 'Smhh'," he said, saying, "smuh." "That isn't a word at all."

Derek said, "If it's initials you want, we can make, 'sled.' Seems more connected to our actual courtship and all."

They all smiled at him—despite outward appearances Derek was the most sentimental of all of them—and it fell to Erica to pat his hand and say, "That's very lovely, brother, but having a ranch named after something that moves doesn't seem quite right."

"I reckon not," Derek agreed. "I like 'dels' just fine."

"I do, too," Erica said, and turned to Lydia.

"Well, I suppose it is a mathematical term, when you spell it with just one L," she said. 

"For what?" Erica asked. "Or would we—"

"It's an operator in calculus," Lydia said. "It stands for different things depending on how and where you use it."

"No, that doesn't sound like us at all," Derek said dryly.

"Del is symbolized by a namba, like this," she said, and drew: ∇. 

"But there are four of us," Erica said. She cocked her head, and then put a dot at the center of the triangle, with lines connecting it to each of the three points.

Stiles asked, "Who's at the center?"

"Whoever needs to be," Derek replied, and that was that. Derek put the symbol under the name on the sign at the turn off from the road.)

The cottage was small, but two small bedrooms were enough for two couples and it was bigger than a claim shanty, anyways. Over supper there was even more conversation, and laughter, and then after a last few chores they went to bed, sometimes when it was still quite light outside. Not that they were sleeping, of course. 

Even in her dreams of Boston marriages, Lydia had never pictured herself indulging in the carnal pleasures as much as she did now that she had fallen for Erica. This was nothing like the confessions her sister had made to her, that first Christmas after she was married, about being kissed _there_ and kissing her husband _there_ in return. Thanks to her sister, Lydia had also known about the "little death" and that a woman could have needs as well as a man, even look forward to the necessary act. Lydia's idea of a "true" Boston marriage had never gone much beyond kissing and perhaps some soft caresses. Of course, she touched herself in the night on occasion, but it was nothing more than a bit of pleasure. 

Now she knew, thanks to her and Erica's explorations, precisely where and how she wanted to be touched. Now she had pictures in her mind that made her want to put a pillow between her legs, pinch her breasts, writhe against the mattress like a cat in heat. Sometimes she could feel every nerve in every inch of skin, and just how her clothing brushed against her. She wondered how she'd lasted through the fall, when she'd had to go months without Erica after that long summer of lazy days spent in a kissing haze, but she supposed the letters had helped. And as with anything, they were improving with weekly practice.

Saturday, while Erica and Derek worked with their new teams, Stiles and Lydia tended their garden. The previous owner had abandoned the plot after his wife passed, but they'd bought the place early enough in the spring to bring it back to life. They'd also inherited two barn cats, Gog and Magog, who prided themselves on keeping other critters out of the vegetable patch and the stable. The orange and brown beasts stretched out lazily in the late spring sun, scratching their backs in the soil between the rows of plants. 

Derek and Erica had brought seeds from Beacon when they moved, which Stiles and Lydia supplemented with some experimental hybrids from the horticulture department at their college. Vegetables grew well here, better than they had in Dakota most years, and there would be plenty for preserving in the fall and eating now. While Erica and Derek could handle picking what was ripe, the rest of the work fell to their fiancés. After a week spent with pencil and chalk in dusty classrooms Lydia felt joy sinking her hands into the good, clean soil. Stiles insisted on planting flowers, too, or really sowing them across their land and letting them grow wild, and Erica had taken to putting them in her hair on Sundays, when she had to abandon trousers and hat for dress and corset.

Lydia thought she was beautiful either way.

Inside the cottage, the week's bread was rising under a tea towel. Lydia kneaded it on the counter in front of the kitchen window while Stiles bustled around behind her, putting beans to soak for Sunday baking and changing the water of the corned beef brisket he was putting in to roast for their supper. The window looked out onto the paddock, and Lydia could indulge her love for watching Erica and Derek work. Their movements with and around the horses were like dancing, familiar and beautiful, both of them so suited to their jobs and so sure of how to do them.

Stiles came up next to her, to chop onion and carrots to go with the roast, and caught her sighing. "Ogling your girl in her trousers?" he asked, winking.

She wanted to protest, but the sudden flushing of her cheeks likely gave her away, as Stiles started to chuckle.

"It's all right," he said. "No one would blame you. After all, if it were up to me, Derek wouldn't own a single shirt."

Lydia looked back out the window, seeing that Derek was working in his shirtsleeves, though his shirt was soaked through with sweat and he didn't appear to be wearing anything underneath. "I think he's aware of that," she said.

"Maybe so," Stiles said, unrepentant and smirking. "And maybe Erica's trousers have been a little more close fitting this spring?"

"Maybe so," Lydia replied.

After their corned beef supper, Stiles read to them from Mr. Twain's new novel about Tom Sawyer's friend Huck that was causing such a ruckus. Lydia and Erica were working on the mending and some new curtains for the bedrooms, where now simple muslin hung in the windows, while Derek was sharpening all of their knives on his whetstone. Later, they took turns in the bath, Stiles still reading to them all the while. It had quickly seemed silly to put up a curtain for bathing, and was more convivial to all be together, some of them drying before the fire while the others drew more water and heated it on the stove. Stiles took the final bath, and then they all went to bed, clean and cozy.

Sunday morning they had a quick breakfast and then dressed for church. Paxville's church was Unitarian, having been founded by some Bostonian free thinkers who'd come out west during the Gold Rush to experiment with collectivist living. With those kinds of roots, the living arrangements of the future Hales and Stilinskis didn't even raise an eyebrow. Even Stiles's politics weren't at all out of place in a town which still attracted more than its share of radical types. Derek and Erica had been raised Unitarian, and Stiles and Lydia had begun to study seriously with an eye to converting and joining the church themselves. Whether that came to fruition or not, Reverend Samuels had happily agreed to marry them in late June. It really was as if they'd been fated to live there.

They visited for a bit with the other parishioners after services, Mrs. Samuels making sure that Stiles would make his stuffed cabbage for the church supper next Saturday. Then they went back to the ranch for dinner, a thick bean stew that had been cooking slowly on the back of the stove since early in the morning. And it was at Sunday dinner that this particular early-May weekend moved outside of the routine.

Stiles and Derek were sketching out their future home on a rough bit of scratch paper at the table. They'd all been sad to leave the house that Stiles and Derek had built two summers before, though Laura and Boyd had moved into it when they took over Derek's claim, so at least it was in family hands. With the purchase of the ranch they didn't have the funds to build a new one quite yet, and the cottage did them just fine even if it was a bit worn down from forty years of weather and life. So the house would have to wait, likely until Lydia and Stiles had graduated and Stiles could devote all of his time to carpentry.

They were discussing bedrooms and whether they should go ahead and save for a two-story house when Stiles said, "Well, but _are_ we having children, or aren't we?"

The table fell silent, and Derek and Erica looked at each other in a slightly guilty way that made Lydia think they might have discussed it between them, but not with Stiles or Lydia.

At length, Derek said: "I reckon it's up to the ladies, since it falls so much harder on them."

"Agreed," Stiles said.

"I would like to?" Erica said, uncertain. "I could find a way to do so and still see to the horses, I'm sure, if Ma could run a house with five children and still do her writing for the newspaper and those Unitarian circulars."

Lydia looked around the table. "Did you all presume that I wouldn't want to?" she asked. 

"But you spoke of wanting to teach at a college," Erica said. "You couldn't do that and have children."

"I couldn't do that and be married, either," Lydia replied. "But I could do my own work, couldn't I? Mary Shelley had children, as did Margaret Fuller and the Countess Lovelace, and they still wrote and published and corresponded with the thinkers of the day. I know they were wealthy, but I reckon we can find a way." She smiled a little to herself and then continued, "Who's to say that Stiles might not be the best to care for our children? Don't you say, from each according to his ability?"

"I'm not a _socialist_ ," Stiles said, "but yes, that has been said. By people."

"After we've been graduated, we shall make a plan, as we always do," Lydia said. "After all, characteristics such as ours should be preserved into the next generations, shouldn't they?"

"I fully agree," Derek said, taking her hand. 

"Well, that's decided," Stiles said. Then: "I hate to bring up trivialities, but how, exactly, are we to accomplish this? You know, as a practical matter?"

Erica shrugged. "If we're all there—we were all there for the engaging, and we'll all be there for the marrying. We can all be there for the baby making."

Derek scowled slightly. "You make it sound like breeding the horses," he said, "with all of us there."

"Given how thin the walls are between our bedrooms," Lydia said, "we're practically all in the same room at night, anyways."

"I _told you_ they listened," Stiles said. "I told you I spoke to Erica, but no, you wouldn't believe me."

"Lydia seemed like such a good, upstanding young lady when I met her," Derek said. 

"Don't think you've corrupted her," Erica said. "I don't think even I've done that."

Stiles shook his head. "Do you really think I would have fallen for an upstanding young lady?" he asked. "Knowing me so well?"

Derek looked at them all for a long moment, then said, "No."

"No. You're going to be a father by and by, so perhaps it's time to stop deciding that you're such a terrible influence on everyone."

"All right," Derek said.

"Good," Stiles said, nodding and getting up from the table. "Because Lydia made a pie and you won't appreciate it if you're brooding."

Lydia and Stiles took a train back to the city very early on Monday morning, as they had no classes until Monday afternoon. Stiles was thoughtful, staring out the window over Lydia's head, and then at last he said, "Maybe I should learn how to knit. You know, baby booties and such."

"You would knit," she said, smiling. "You would sit on this train and knit, wouldn't you?"

"Well, now I'll have to," he said, smiling back.

* * *

Once they moved to California, it was clear that the folks wouldn't be able to be at the wedding. It was too far for so many people to travel, especially in early June, when Stiles and Lydia were home for the summer. Instead, they promised to come out to Dakota over Lydia and Stiles's Christmas holiday, when everyone would have more free time. Scott and Allison couldn't get away from the Wild West Show, but would be able to have a nice long visit in October, when the show was in residence again in San Francisco, not to mention that they'd also once again be in Beacon for Christmas.

But Lydia felt, oddly, that it was better that no one could come than some and not others. They were starting a life together, and they might as well begin it by relying on themselves. A few days before the wedding they went to the photographer in town, and after some back and forth discussion, Erica wore her trousers and hat—though Lydia did get Derek to shave off his ever-present scruff. They had several copies made for the folks.

That morning, Lydia made a white cake, and Erica fried a chicken, and Stiles made dumplings filled with cabbage. Derek went to the field and picked wildflowers for bouquets, and for his and Stiles's lapels. Erica wore her garnet dress and Lydia her violet one, while Stiles had a vest of just the same red as his scarf and Derek one of deep green. They piled into the buggy and let Caesar and the Duchess take them to Reverend Peter's home.

And so they were wed.

At home they changed before eating dinner, so as not to spoil their finery, but just didn't bother getting dressed again. This should have been stranger than it was, but they had been taking baths in front of each other for a few months now, so Lydia supposed eating their wedding dinner in their underclothes wasn't so odd. After they'd had their fill of cake and completed their evening chores, Stiles went into the bedroom and pulled out the small case he'd hidden under the bed.

"I know we said no presents," Stiles said, "and truly this home is present enough for all of us, but Lydia and I thought of something that, well, it might make things special today. I found this special shop, you see, that sells books like the one I stole that time. You know, with the pictures?" He took from the back of the case two more books and set them down on the table. "These are stories rather than pictures, but since we're finished with Huck Finn …"

Erica immediately reached for one of the books. 

"But they also sold, er, implements. Which I thought might be interesting. Lydia did as well."

Derek scowled. "You didn't take Lydia to such a place, did you?" he asked.

"I wore a veil," she said, "and Stiles had his gun, and we changed cabs midway going and coming."

"Would I endanger her?" Stiles asked. "But if you don't want to see—"

"Of course I want to _see_ ," Derek said quickly.

"Just open the case, Stiles," Erica said.

He did, to reveal four leather phalluses, of slightly different colors. "There's a harness, too, for the girls."

"My goodness," Erica said, setting the book aside. 

"We thought it might be nice to have something special for our wedding day," Lydia said. 

Derek looked confused. "I understand for the ladies," he said, "but we already—"

"I'd been thinking of when we were apart," Stiles said, "that we could each have one to, you know. Think of each other. But I'm fairly sure we can find something to do with them when we're together, too."

"You would," Derek replied.

"Is there a difference between them?" Erica asked.

"Other than the color, no," Stiles said. "And that's just so we can tell them apart."

Erica boldly the buff colored one, and the harness. "Shall we?" she asked.

"Let's," Lydia replied, taking the deep brown phallus and following her wife—wife!—into the bedroom. 

Erica held the harness up to her hips, then set it down on the chest. "I don't want to wear this tonight," she said. 

"No?" Lydia asked. 

She shook her head and pulled Lydia down onto the bed next to her. "Sometime though. Maybe when I'm wearing my trousers?"

Lydia couldn't help herself; she pictured this and her heart started beating just a little faster. "We could do that," she replied, trying to keep her voice even.

But Erica laughed, putting a hand on Lydia's hip. "Sounds like we'd better," she said, nuzzling into Lydia's neck. "You could wear the saloon girl dress."

"It's a bit long on me," Lydia replied, pulling herself more fully into Erica's lap.

"Doesn't matter if it's pushed up to your waist," Erica said, and thrust against her as punctuation.

"You have a point," Lydia gasped, clinging tighter to Erica's shoulders. "So instead?"

"Get these off," she said, pulling at Lydia's drawers. 

While Lydia stood up and did as Erica wished, Erica reached for the phallus. 

"I can just use my hand," she said. "If you still want this."

Lydia stared at it. She knew that ladies used them with each other in the pictures in Stiles's book, and in the stories, but those pictures and stories were created by men. But she'd wanted it, wanted to buy it, maybe wanted this tiny bit of traditional experience even if everything else was as nontraditional as it could be. 

Also, the idea of Erica in trousers with the harness still made her want to bite her lip.

She took a breath. "It's our wedding day," she said, hoping Erica would understand.

Erica smiled, or really, had that predatory grin that curled up at the edges, the one she often had when it was time to go to bed. "Let's see if we get any blood on the sheets," she said, and pulled Lydia back down next to her. "Or if I've already defiled you sufficiently." Erica said "defiled" like her tongue was caressing the word itself, the way Stiles sometimes said naughty things, and Lydia shuddered to hear it.

She could already feel herself wet with anticipation, with just having been able to stare at Erica's barely clothed body during dinner. They really needed to eat unclothed more often. Unashamed, she spread her legs and pulled up her chemise. "Do your worst," she said.

Erica slid in just the tip, then looked up at Lydia. "All right?"

"Yes, please," Lydia said, nodding. She was leaning back on her elbows, and pulled the bunched fabric of her chemise out of the way so she could see the phallus entering her.

Erica, though, wasn't looking at it, but at Lydia's face, as she slid the phallus in slowly and carefully. Looking at Erica was too much for Lydia now; it was easier to watch her hands, to see how well Erica could work by feel. Besides, watching the leather phallus disappear between her own strawberry blonde curls was undeniably hot, kept her from thinking too much about the slight … discomfort.

"Bigger than fingers," she gasped, when it was in as far as it might go, the knob at its end protruding from her. "Longer, too." She felt Erica's knuckles brushing that particularly sensitive little nub of flesh. "Don't distract me."

"Wanted to make it better."

Lydia shook her head. "I just want to feel this. You could move it? Like the men do."

Erica pulled it back, thrust it in again, slowly at first but then faster. "It won't spend, though," she said. "There's no ending. How does it feel?"

"Good," Lydia said, spreading her legs more. "Full. All filled up. Here, stop, I can do it for you."

Erica lay down, having already removed her drawers at some point, and Lydia knelt up. The phallus stayed inside her but she found herself gripping it with her inner muscles as she took up the other phallus. She could hear the boys now, in the other room, and wondered what they were getting up to with their phalluses. Lydia had seen Erica's private places many times before, of course, but now she imagined she could see it as a man would, not as a pretty thing in itself to be licked and petted but as a hole that needed to be filled, a soft, wet place that needed something hard and strong pushing into it. She did so, slowly as Erica had, saw her nether lips grasp the phallus and take it in, as her own had. 

"Yes," Erica said, wriggling a little. "Make it move."

She did, but she could understand even more what Erica had been doing; there was something slightly dissatisfying about the endeavor. 

"Here, let me," Lydia said, but before she could move Erica was sitting up and pulling the phallus out of Lydia. Lydia felt empty, suddenly; she'd grown used to having it inside her.

What Erica wanted with it was, apparently, to put it into her mouth. She licked a stripe up the phallus, then sucked the tip of it. "If you had one," she said, "it would taste like this."

"Oh my," Lydia said, staring. She thought of the women in the pictures, and men for that matter, kneeling before men and taking their members into their mouths. She wanted Erica's, and so she took it, and they sat there on the bed sucking each other's wetness from the leather phalluses, staring at each other all the while.

"You're so pretty like that," Erica said. "Your lips stretched around it."

"When you come to me, in your trousers, with the harness," Lydia said, "you should put this inside you first. Then I can suck you, before you put it into me."

Erica stopped and threw the phallus down. "I will, but now," she began, then unceremoniously pulled Lydia down atop her.

Lydia cast her phallus aside, too, in favor of putting her hands on Erica, and kissing her. They slotted their legs together in the familiar way, bending so they each had a knee and thigh to rut against as their breasts pressed against each other, all softness where the phalluses had been hard. _This_ is what she wanted, feeling Erica's tongue against her own, moaning into each other's mouths, so sweet and perfect and hot and every good thing. They'd gotten themselves so excited with no relief that they spent again and again, not wanting to stop, not tiring, rutting harder and harder until it seemed to engulf them, until they were nothing but wetness and engorged flesh and hunger trying to satiate itself. Then the wave crested over their heads and they slowed, breathing heavily, smiling against each other's lips.

"My wife," Erica said, and Lydia sighed and snuggled in closer.

"Not a proven virginal one, apparently," Lydia said. "No blood at all."

"Suppose I already defiled you then," she said, smiling. "Ma said I shouldn't expect it for myself as I never did ride sidesaddle."

They lay there for a good while, Lydia wasn't sure how long, and then there was a tap at the slightly-open door. She turned to Erica, who nodded. "Come in?"

Stiles poked his head around the door. "Can we come in? All the way, I mean?"

Lydia sat up, nodding, and Erica pulled them both up to rest against the head of the bed. Their chemises were rucked up from the bottom and sagging at the top, showing flashes of breast, but that was all right. These were their husbands after all.

Stiles and Derek, both in their drawers, settled onto the foot of the bed, and Lydia put the discarded phalluses atop the nearby trunk.

"You liked them?" he asked.

"I think so," Erica said, looking to Lydia.

"Yes. I agree," Lydia said. "You?"

"We, um, we found a use for them, I'd say," he said, grinning and turning to Derek, who smiled back, nodding.

"Use your words, Derek," Erica said, reaching out and shaking his outstretched foot by the ankle.

"We got _married_ ," he said, smiling. He leaned sideways against the wall, his arms wrapped around Stiles who practically sat in his lap. "All of us, together. I thought we should, I don't know. Be together now, too."

"I brought a book to read," Stiles said.

Lydia saw it was one of the books they'd bought in the little shop in the city. "Oh, Stiles, that will just get us all going again."

"And?" Derek said. "We can hear each other anyways. I was thinking, maybe we could be all in one room. Not together, but, together."

Lydia was surprised at how good even she had become at deciphering the other meanings that always lay beneath Derek's words. She could feel Erica nodding behind her, see Stiles looking hopeful.

"All right," she said. "As you say, we're married now."


	21. (Allison and Scott)

"And are there any plans for ringing in the new century?" Cora asked. "Other than our usual baseball?"

Lydia said, "Actually, the new century doesn't begin until 1901, as there was no year zero. Bad decision not to have that as part of the Gregorian reform, I say."

Cora rolled her eyes, reminding Allison so much of Erica that it was hard not to giggle. 

The three women, with Stiles, were in the big kitchen at The Dels, putting the finishing touches on Sunday dinner. There were some additional flourishes on the usual roast and vegetables, it being New Year's Eve.

"No more of that," Stiles said. "I gave you a column in the newspaper to speak your peace, and that is the end of it. Folks like big round numbers. Let them have their illusions."

At that, Allison did laugh. 

"I didn't mean to stir up a hornet's nest," Cora said. "Clearly this has been the topic of some conversation."

"I merely wanted my loved ones to have the correct information, and not remain in ignorance," Lydia said with a shrug. Seeing Allison still smiling, she pursed her lips. "What is it?"

"It's nice to see you speaking your mind," Allison said. "You didn't know her until she'd been at college, Cora, but back in Beacon Lydia tended to hide her light under a bushel basket."

"How could she even have managed?" Cora replied.

"To answer your question," Stiles said, "Derek and Erica got some fireworks and after dinner I'm going to make one of these new chocolate cakes for tomorrow. But we'll have sausages and sauerkraut as usual, with our game."

Just then a strongly built teenage boy with freckles and a head full of sandy curls poked his head into the kitchen door. "Say, Uncle Stiles, watcha makin'?"

"Mustard sauce," he replied, and when the boy frowned he added, "and there's ketchup cooking on the back of the stove."

The boy brightened. "Is it done? Can I try it?"

" _May_ you try it, Zachariah," Cora corrected.

"Yes, Ma. May I, Uncle Stiles?" 

"You may, but use a spoon and not your fingers and do not tell me it needs more vinegar. That is what your Uncle Derek always says and your Uncle Derek is wrong."

"Did you come for something in particular?" Lydia asked. 

Zachariah dipped a spoon into the pot slowly bubbling at the back of the stove. "Ada Margaret tried to eat a crabapple out of the bin in the barn so Uncle Scott sent me in to get some reg'lar apples. Guess the little ones are hungry."

Allison sighed. "You tell your uncle Scott that dinner will be on the table shortly and that instead of eating apples you all might set the table."

"Yes, ma'am," he said, placing the spoon in the sink. "I think the ketchup tastes real nice, uncle stiles."

"There's a boy after my own heart," stiles said. 

A minute or so later, Melissa came inside, the children in tow. "Now, who can tell me how many plates we need?" She reached into the pantry for the big checked tablecloth and handed it over the heads of the little ones to Zachariah's younger sister Amy. 

Caleb, who was five, grinned at Allison. "May I try, Ma?"

"Go ahead," she said, nodding. 

Caleb counted on his fingers. "Ma and Pa and me and Marianne and Cecilia. Uncle Derek and aunt Lydia and Ada Margaret and Lizzie and Sam. Uncle Stiles and Aunt Erica and Jamie and Abby and Billy and Baby Ellie. Uncle Isaac and Aunt Cora and Zachariah and Amy and Daniel and Tim. Grandma and Grandpa makes twenty-three, only I reckon baby Ellie doesn't need a plate so twenty-two." 

"That's very good counting, Caleb," Lydia said. 

Caleb grinned broadly, the bright, happy smile he shared with his father and grandmother. "Thanks, Aunt Lydia!" he said. "I've been working on my sums."

"Math is wonderful and nothing to be afraid of," she said. "You children remember that." 

"Yes, ma'am," they mumbled, and followed their grandmother into the pantry. 

Cora shook her head. "You are bound and determined to make one of those children into an engineer, aren't you?"

"It is the future," she replied. "That's what I tell my students at the college, at least."

Out in the other room, there were tables and chairs and benches crammed into every inch of available space, and the children, under their grandmother's watchful eye, were setting the table as the grown-ups bustled around putting out the food. Stiles and Derek had built the house with just these sorts of gatherings in mind, with the big room used as a sitting room or a dining room as needed. There were as many bedrooms upstairs as they could fit, including one large one with two beds that Derek, Stiles, Lydia and Erica all shared. (Given the unusual living arrangements of some of the other families in the still-radical town, the children didn't fuss over that too much.) The original cottage still stood, now used more for storage and a guest house than anything else, and was where Allison's in-laws would stay when they came up from San Luis Obispo, or Cora and Isaac would stay when they visited from their place down near Santa Barbara. Boyd and Laura had even visited a few times with their children in tow. But with the full house for the holiday, there were simply mattresses all over the floors upstairs.

It took some time to settle everyone in around the tables, but once they were, Mr. Stilinski stood up, glass in hand. He'd grown more wiry in his later years, now that he and his wife had followed their children to California. 

"Just wanted to make a little toast for the new year," he began. "Not the new century, of course, and thank you, Lydia, but a new year all the same, and the new century coming soon enough. The folks in Washington said the frontier was gone a good ten years back, and that's easy to believe out here in such settled country. The children at this table are going to inherit an entirely new country, so let's all pray to the Lord that it will be a good country that treats them well." He paused, then, "Amen."

"Amen," they all replied.

After dinner Erica corralled the men and children into clean up duties, so Allison and Lydia were able to slip out for a walk along the ocean path before the sun set. The water was almost black, as it often was in the winter, the one time that "wine-dark sea" description in Homer made any kind of sense to Allison. They walked in silence; they saw each other often enough, with living in the same town, that there wasn't much to say.

Except. 

"So what is it you need to tell me?" Lydia asked.

Allison turned to her. "How did you know?" 

"You keep taking in a breath, as if to say something, and then you stop."

"Well." Allison pressed her lips together. There was no reason _not_ to say anything to Lydia; certainly she was interested in any number of possibly frivolous subjects. "You know that Mr. Edison, that makes the Kinetoscopes? He's a friend of Mr. Cody, and he's written to ask me to come to his workshop in New Jersey so he can make one of me."

Lydia's eyes widened. "And you're going to do it, aren't you?"

"You think I should?" 

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Oh, I don't know. They're somewhat low, these kinetoscopes."

"Lower than being in a Wild West Show?"

"I suppose not," Allison allowed, smiling.

"But do you want to?"

"I keep thinking of those girls who used to come to my shows with their picture postcards of me to sign, and I think how many more of them might see the Kinetoscope."

"An excellent reason. Every time I am assigned a female student I feel the same. They're surprised to see a married women with a PhD in mathematics. I hope it encourages them. Not to mention my own children, and not just the girls, either. If Derek could have his mother and sister and be in favor of women's colleges, who's to say what Sam and Jamie and Billy will be like."

"Which is why we'd want to leave the children with you."

"Think nothing of it; they're certainly here often enough as it is. Though that's more Erica's lookout than mine. While I'm sure she'd happily agree, she'd likely appreciate being asked."

"And Scott will have to check with his partner at the practice."

"Who I'm sure is perfectly capable of looking after the animals in this town for a week or so. You two deserve a little trip; I don't think you've traveled at all since you left the Wild West Show, have you?"

"No further than San Francisco or San Luis Obispo. After college, we just wanted to make a _home_. We hadn't had one, not really."

"Then you can think of this as the wedding tour you never really had. Traveling with so many people and animals and entertaining a large crowd nearly every night does not a wedding tour make."

"I suppose not, but you never had one, either, Mrs. Hale."

"Actually, we've been discussing going to Europe. The four of us, when the children are a bit older. Derek and Erica's parents have said many times they'd love to have them all for a summer, since they don't see them nearly as much as Boyd and Laura's children. Given that we will have sold a few horses before making such a trip we might be able to coerce them into looking after the stock as well. I have some colleagues and correspondents in England and Germany I'd like to meet in person. And Stiles would write anyplace, so he'd be filing some stories as we go, perhaps even make a book of it. So you'll have to tell us about all the places you visited when you were there."

"How exciting! Of course we will." Allison took Lydia's hand in hers. "I can't wait to hear what you make of Europe. Don't leave all the writing up to Stiles."

Lydia squeezed back. "When have I ever let Stiles, or any man, have the last word?" 

Allison laughed. "But Erica?"

"Well," Lydia said, looking back out toward the sea, "one must make some concessions for matrimonial harmony."

* * *

Hale holidays always centered around baseball. Well, Hale-Argent-McCall-Stilinski holidays, to be more accurate. Stiles always wanted to call the family "hams" in the manner of "The Dels" but the name wouldn't stick despite his efforts.

Whatever they were called, when the family gathered baseball tended to break out, particularly now that so many of the children were old enough to need the kind of distraction that allowed them to run off excess energy. And as California Januarys were nothing like Dakota Januarys, they were able to do so nearly year round. Derek, who'd become a good deal more patient when the children were born, was the de facto coach, teaching each child the basics of the game. Erica pitched, so the two of them weren't on either team. And now that the children had gotten older, the rest of the adults had taken a step back. Which was just as well, as they'd all been up until midnight to ring in the new year with the help of some whiskey and playing cards, then rose early with children excited for their New Year breakfast. Scott didn't mind sitting this game out.

But now that Caleb McCall was old enough to be in school he was old enough to play, and Scott thought his heart might burst with pride. They'd been practicing at home, hitting and catching, and Caleb had a pretty good eye if Scott did say so himself.

He got that from his mother, of course.

Stiles served as catcher now that he wasn't playing. "Who taught you to hold the bat, Caleb?"

"My Pa," Caleb replied. His scowl looked too charming for words on his tiny, round-cheeked face, but they all knew from experience that Caleb liked to be taken seriously. 

"He taught you well." Stiles nodded to Erica.

Erica nodded back, and threw the ball. It was an easy pitch, to be sure—straight down the middle and not too fast—but it was still a real pitch, and Caleb swung just an instant too late.

"Swing and a miss, strike one," Stiles said, throwing the ball back to Erica.

"All right, Caleb!" Allison shouted, then put her fingers in her mouth and whistled.

The next pitch was outside, and Caleb didn't swing.

Derek clapped. "Good eye, Caleb!"

Caleb nodded solemnly, and got back into his batter's stance. He swung at the next pitch, and missed.

"One and two," Stiles said.

Allison clapped. "Go out swinging, Caleb!" she said.

He shook his shoulders a bit, then settled down. Erica pitched, Caleb swung—and hit the ball.

Scott and Allison sprung to their feet. "Run! Run!" they shouted, and Caleb did run just as fast as his legs could take him toward Zachariah and first base.

But Ada Margaret, who was playing shortstop and who at ten was showing all the signs of having inherited her father's baseball talent, scooped up the ground ball and threw it to Zachariah before Caleb reached the base.

Caleb ran back toward his parents, still scowling.

"I'm sorry you went out on your first at bat," Allison said, squatting down to eye level with her son.

"It's all right, Ma," he replied, patting her hand. "Next time I just won't hit toward Ada Margaret."

"I'm very proud of my daughter," Lydia said, "but how, precisely, did I end up in such a baseball-mad family?"

Isaac smirked. "You married into it, fair and square, just like I did," he said. "And don't tell me skill with a ball wasn't part of the appeal, because Cora and I have letters that imply otherwise."

"Perhaps," Lydia said, tossing her head.

Scott leaned into Allison. "Does she know that she looks like a mare when she does that?"

"Whether she does or not," Allison replied, "I think it's best not to tell her."

After a few more "innings", when all the children had had the chance to both field and hit, Erica said, "Uncle Derek gets last turn!"

Derek trotted over to home plate and picked up the bat. 

"Strike him out, Erica!" Stiles called out.

"Hey now, be kind," Derek said. "He might be your husband but remember your brother."

Erica shook her head, grinning. "All right outfielders, get ready," she said, and then she threw a pitch—not the easy tosses she'd been giving the young ones, but the kind of proper pitch that Derek had taught her when she was younger.

Derek was ready for it, swinging hard and hitting it past all of them, past the stables even, and the kids all ran off to get it.

All except Ada Margaret, who just stood and stared. 

Derek grinned at her. "Should I run the bases?" he asked.

She smiled back, the same Hale smile that Derek, Laura and Cora shared. "Doesn't count as a run if you don't," she said.

Derek had rounded third by the time the other children came back, and Stiles stood up from his catcher's crouch. 

"All right!" he shouted. "Time for sausage!" 

If possible, the children ran even faster toward the house.

Jamie Stilinski, who was eleven and therefore starting to know things, asked, "The boys at school said they eat hot dogs at baseball games."

Stiles raised an eyebrow. "Well, we are Stilinskis, and we eat Polish sausage."

"I think they taste better anyway," Erica said, tousling his hair as she walked by. "Don't you?"

"Yes, Ma, but hot dogs are American," Jamie said.

"Your grandmother's tamales aren't American, either," Derek said. "Do you want to give those up?"

His younger sister Abby was busy dousing her sausage with ketchup and sauerkraut. "Why can't we have both?" she asked.

"That's what I do," Scott said.

Jamie sighed. "I guess," he said, and took a sausage.

"Good," Derek said. "Scott, if you have a minute, could you come to the stable and just have a look?"

"Of course. I'll just get my bag." Queenie and Jonathan's first foal, Lady, was carrying a foal of her own, and Derek and Erica had been unusually nervous about her. True, Lady had never been a particularly strong horse, but she was healthy as they all could make her. But placating Derek and Erica made Stiles and Lydia happy, and that meant they weren't worrying at him and Allison, which was all to the greater good.

Lizzie was there, too, because she followed her father everywhere she could. She had her mother's red hair but when she wasn't at school insisted on wearing trousers like her Aunt Erica and spent as much time in the stable as she possibly could. But she knew how to stay out of the way, standing just outside while Scott gave Lady a quick look-over.

"She'll be just fine," Scott said, standing. "Lady's heartier than she looks."

"Of course you are, aren't you?" Erica said, stroking her neck. 

"Thank you for checking her, anyways," Derek said, his eyebrows back to something like a normal position. "I don't know. I just keep having a bad feeling."

"That's because things have been going well," said Stiles from the doorway. He was holding a tray with a few sausages on it. "And you'll feel better if you eat something."

"For me?" Derek asked.

"I've got one with mustard and sauerkraut for Erica, and one with ketchup and mustard for Scott, and a little one with ketchup for Lizzie," he said. "And just plain, for you."

"Thank you Uncle Stiles!" Lizzie shouted, taking her sausage. 

"You'd better get back to the house quick, before everyone else eats up your Aunt Cora's cookies!" he added, and she obeyed, running out of the stable with the sausage firmly in her hand.

"I should go, too," Erica said. "The children—"

"Other people can look after our children for a few minutes, Erica," Derek said. "Besides, they owe you from the card game last night."

"I suppose," Erica said, but she didn't look convinced.

"Oh, while we're here," Scott said, "thank you for having Lydia convince Allison to do the Kinetoscope."

Stiles looked surprised. "I didn't actually get the chance to talk to her," he said. 

"I know Stiles likes to think otherwise, but we do occasionally do things on our own," Erica said.

"Do we?" Derek asked, but he was grinning. 

Scott looked up, hearing someone at the door, and saw Allison and Lydia. "Hello there."

"We wondered why you sent Lizzie back," Lydia said. "Thought we'd come investigate."

"Your parents are playing some sort of game with the children," Allison said as she walked toward Scott. "I think they're trying to tire them out even more to get them to bed early."

"I remember those games," Stiles said.

"Cora and Isaac have wandered off someplace," Lydia added.

"They do that," Erica said. "Always have."

"So we thought we'd bring out some wine, have a little grown up party," Allison said.

Scott took the bottle and the opener, and got the cork out while Allison and Lydia handed out glasses. "What are we drinking to? The new year?"

"The new century?" Stiles asked.

Lydia rolled her eyes. "Oh all right," she said. "I give in, so long as we do it again next year."

"Where else would we want to be?" Erica asked.

Scott divided the bottle among them, and the three couples drifted toward each other, as they tended to do. 

Derek wrapped an arm around Stiles's shoulders and held up his glass. "To friends, and family, and the new century," he said, and they all drank, together.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading!! You can find me on tumblr at [clio-jlh](http://clio-jlh.tumblr.com/).


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